The Curious Case of Romulus Lestrange
by underthemoonandstars
Summary: It's the summer after the Triwizard Tournament and Harry doesn't look like a Potter anymore. What is he to do when it turns out he has family on the other side of the war willing to torture, murder, and burn to get their son back? Then again, Harry has always been able to fight against the odds, as long as his friends stand beside him, the family he can choose. Alternate Parentage.
1. Son of my Heart

_Welcome to "The Curious Case of Romulus Lestrange!" I'm very excited about this story, considering it is mostly planned out. It is also my NaNoWriMo project this year, so the goal is 50,000 words by the end of November. I won't be giving exact dates to events like I did in "The Krum Legacy". I just gave the first one in this chapter as a starting point and there should be one next chapter to signal a significant time skip. Otherwise, the timing should make sense without specific dates mattering overly much. Just a heads up, this is an AU where there is no prophecy. If Voldemort chooses to kill the Potters (you'll know by the end of this chapter) it's because of their continued defiance, not because of any prophecy. Enjoy!_

 **July 1980**

Bellatrix Lestrange gazed adoringly down at the three-week old baby snuggled down in a hand-carved, ebony bassinet. She never really envisioned herself as a mother- that was more of her sister Cissy's calling. She was a warrior for the Dark, a loyal follower of the Dark Lord, dedicated to preserving the glory of her world and cleansing it of the muggle scum that threatens her way of life.

But as she looked down at the peacefully sleeping baby, she was sure she could do both. She could fight for the Dark, and raise her precious son at the same time. She could teach him, train him to bring glory to his House, his name, and his legacy. She could bring him up a loyal servant to the Dark Lord and their cause. And maybe, if she worked hard enough in the next few years, he could live in a world where the Dark had won and the muggle infestation was nothing but a long dead memory.

She let perfectly manicured nails trail through fine hair, silky and midnight black. Already she could tell that he would have her curls and his eyes seemed to have shifted from the undecided infant blue to her charcoal grey color that many of her family shared. Her son, without a doubt, looked very much a Black. She supposed there were elements of her husband Rodolphus in him as well, but it was hard to tell considering he was so young.

Her and Rodolphus didn't really have what one would consider a romantic or loving marriage. They were partners, duelists whose styles complimented each other extremely well. She might even consider Rodolphus her best friend if she was feeling particularly sentimental. But all of the romantic love she was capable of went to her Lord. Marrying Rodolphus was simply a matter of expectations and mutual benefit. Even the conception of the son she was coming to adore, more than Rodolphus certainly, was only a matter of working out some frustrations with her husband. The act had been about as far from 'making-love' as one could get and still be consensual.

No, she didn't really love Rodolphus, not in the way a wife was supposed to. But the little being in the bassinet had completely stolen her heart. He was beautiful, and healthy, and she could just tell that her precious little baby boy was meant for greatness. They had named him Romulus Altair Lestrange. Romulus was the name of Rodolphus' grandfather, and stuck to the Lestrange family naming tradition of using names that exclusively began with the letter R.

Altair was in-line with her own family tradition of naming members after stars, constellations, and galaxies. She chose Altair for many reasons, one of her most venerated ancestors, a spell-crafter who developed over one hundred different spells to torture your enemies, had been named Altair Black. The star Altair was also considered an ill omen, a sign to be weary of reptiles more specifically. Bellatrix wanted her son to stand, proud and strong, as an ill omen for the accursed Light, so they may fear the snakes set to destroy them.

Sometimes, Bellatrix was a little uncomfortable with how much her baby meant to her. In the darkest part of the night, when it was just her thoughts and Rodolphus' steady breaths to disturb the silence, Bellatrix feared she may love Romulus even more than the Dark Lord. But she was always quick to shove those thoughts behind her Occlumency shields and lock them away. Such disloyalty would help no one in the end.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

James Potter was having a hard week at work. Well, he was having a hard week in general. The war was going poorly, he could admit that. People were dying paranoia ran rampant, and you couldn't trust just anyone. He was an Auror and a member of the Order of the Phoenix, so he knew more than most how desperate the situation was becoming.

There was also the fact that Lily had been gone the last two months on a mission with the Unspeakables. Lily was only a consultant, not an actual Unspeakable. Apparently, there was some big Charms project they were working on that Lily's talent was needed for, not that Lily could tell him much about it. She was working with Unspeakables, after all; the name implied a fair bit of secrecy.

The hardest part of this week, though, was the raid he was about to join on Lestrange Manor. The Lestranges had been supporters of Lord Voldemort for a long time, but there had never been enough evidence to convict them of any particular crime. It was practically Wizarding Britains worst kept secret at this point. Everyone knew Bellatrix was one of the Dark Lords favored Lieutenants, as they new Rodolphus and Rabastan were Inner Circle Death Eaters with her.

But two weeks ago, Rodolphus made a mistake. A group of Death Eaters attacked Edgar Bones and his family, killing Edgar, his wife, and their two teenage sons. The only one spared in the attack was the Bones' infant daughter Susan. As the Death Eaters made to leave, an elderly lady who had lived across the street had looked out her window to see an unmasked Rodolphus shoot the Dark Mark into the sky. Her memory was collected to be shown in an evidence Pensieve, and it was confirmed that the wizard was Rodolphus Lestrange.

There was no way to tell who the other Death Eaters were. None of them had looked feminine and even though it was hard to tell with the bulky Death Eater robes and masks they were pretty sure Bellatrix hadn't accompanied her husband on that particular murder. In fact, Bellatrix hadn't been spotted in any capacity in months. There were rumors floating around about what may have happened to her, but nothing concrete or substantial. James' favorite conspiracy theory about her disappearance was that she had given up on Dark magic and blood purity and run off with a muggle. Sirius had smacked him over the head for that one.

They finally had a warrant, and today was the day they were going to storm Lestrange Manor. The leader on the raid was to be Amelia Bones, and James thought this was a huge mistake. She was obviously emotionally compromised by the death of her younger brother and his family. Not to mention he knew she was Susan's new caretaker, and he thought she should be adjusting to that role instead of seeking revenge, but the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was so spread thin that he doubted there was anyone else available to lead such an important raid. James swore to himself that he would watch her back, ensure that her craving for revenge didn't make her reckless enough to get killed.

They took Portkeys to the edge of the property, which only allowed people to Portkey or apparate in and out if they were accompanied by a member of the family. Including James and Amelia there were fifteen Aurors total assembled for the arrest of Rodolphus Lestrange and the subsequent raid for Dark and illegal artifacts at Lestrange Manor. This was a larger number of Aurors than was typical for a single arrest or a raid, but no one was kidding themselves anymore. The Lestranges were dangerous and every precaution needed to be taken. Anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards that would stop the Lestranges themselves were quick to go up and the party of Aurors swiftly made their way to the Manor doors foregoing stealth for speed. The Manors wards had probably already alerted the residents to their arrival anyway.

Amelia herself blew the large ebony doors in and stormed into Lestrange Manor while casting a quick Sonorous Charm. James made sure to throw a shield up in front of her, that she had so carelessly failed to do before entering the Manor properly.

"Rodolphus Lestrange! You are under arrest for the murders of Edgar, Alicia, Matthew, and Richard Bones." Amelia's voice echoed in every room of the expansive home. She didn't get much further before the pained shriek of one of her contingent interrupted her. James turned around to see four of the Aurors in the contingent that had just entered the house much more cautiously then Amelia bent over in agony, clutching their faces and screaming with such concentrated pain that James was sure he'd have nightmares about the guttural sound for days. James immediately hurried over the closest one; an acquaintance of James' named Andrew Silverstone, to see what was wrong.

"Andy, let me see," James commanded as he pried one hand away from his face. What he saw made him stagger back in horror. Chunks of skin were peeling off of Andy's face, letting rivers of blood cascade over a pained expression, painting it red. It was absolutely horrific.

"What the bloody hell," he wondered as Andy's hand returned to his face.

"It's a ward to keep certain people out," yelled an older Auror named George Cauldwell. "I've seen it before, years ago! I think it's keyed to Muggleborns." Cauldwell proceeded to yank one of the shuddering Aurors out of the door, where their pained shrieks transformed into choked sobs. James followed his lead and dragged Andy through the threshold. Now that he thought of it, Andy was a Muggleborn, and the other three were too. His friend Frank Longbottom helped the other two out.

"Cauldwell, help those four out of the apparition wards, the rest of you stay with me," Amelia called out authoritatively. Just like that, their squad of fifteen Aurors was down to ten. Before Amelia could give out more instructions, the air was alight with spellfire. The Lestranges had arrived and they weren't alone. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan had run into the foyer wands first with deadly curses on their lips. Two others were right behind, both middle-aged men that James had never seen before but was more than willing to bet were Death Eaters.

The battle was quick, and fierce, and James could barely stay oriented. He saw deadly green light smack into one of his comrades out of the corner of his eye as he animated a table to jump in between him and another Killing Curse. He was fighting one of the men he didn't recognize. He was thickset, stocky with dusty brown hair and eyes that were a little too small for his face.

James pulled up a shield against a barrage of Cutting Curses, and sent out a few stunners of his own as a distraction before aiming a Blasting Curse at the man's feet, sending him flying across the room and into the rather occupied form of Rabastan Lestrange who was dueling two Aurors at once. The pair went down in a tangle of limbs and one of the Aurors Rabastan had been fighting sent a clean set of stunners at the pair.

"Rabastan!" Rodolphus called out as he fought off three Aurors on his own, including Amelia, who was fighting with a dangerous recklessness that was costing her more than it was giving her. "Bella! Get Romulus!" he yelled as one of his Cutting Curses met it's mark and an Auror named Cassie Sanderson went down with a choked yelp, injured but not fatally so.

James saw Bellatrix break away from her own fight with two Aurors by banishing one, Frank in fact, to fly into the other before she made a quick dash toward the main staircase. James raised his wand to stop her.

"Reducto!"

The staircase shattered into a rain of polished wood and white marble. Bellitrix shrieked as she threw up a hasty shield, not quite managing to block all of the debris flying at her. A chunk of marble struck the side of her face, sending blood cascading down an ivory cheek. James took a vicious moment to appreciate the irony that this would happen to her after that nasty ward had damaged four of his fellow Aurors in such a similar way.

James caught her in the back with a stunner as she staggered from the explosion and was distracted with trying to erect a shield. She toppled to the floor with a dull thud. James was just starting to feel a little confident as Amelia disarmed Rodolphus and the other man James didn't recognize went down in a pile of ropes when a group of seven fully robed and masked Death Eaters burst through the same doors the Aurors had entered through earlier.

Amelia barely managed to stun Rodolphus before being engaged by one of the new arrivals. They weren't really here to fight however, and that became abundantly obvious when James felt the anti-portkey wards fall. One of the Death Eaters sent a Blasting Curse at him, which he hastily blocked and then lunged for Bellatrix, disappearing in whirl of blue typical for a Portkey.

The others did similar, only needing to distract long enough to grab one of their felled fellow Death Eaters. In two minutes, only Aurors remained in the foyer, living and dead. James sighed tiredly. One Auror was dead, two critically injured and that didn't even count the four Muggleborns being mutilated by the home's ward scheme. All of that pain, and not a single arrest to show for it. James suddenly felt very old, and wondered if the war was ever going to end.

Amelia looked absolutely incensed. Her lips were pursed in a tight line as she ordered Frank to help the two injured get to St. Mungos, the body would have to stay until back up arrived for a thorough investigation. She tersely demanded that he repair the staircase, and then join everyone left standing to search for any Dark or dangerous objects in the house.

Just as she said this, the Manor seemed to shudder as a thousand small pops echoed throughout the house. Paintings, artifacts, and objects disappeared in puffs of green smoke right before their very eyes. Sheets appeared out of nowhere to cover furniture and every candle went out in a small huff, sending tiny smoke trails into the air. The Manor was in lockdown. James would bet his last Galleon that all of the newly missing objects were in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts: territory of the Goblin Nation and inaccessible to the Ministry. Great.

James snuck a quick peek at Amelia and honestly wished he hadn't. He didn't think anyone could look that enraged but he was wrong. James was positive only consummate professionalism kept Amelia from screaming and it looked like professionalism was starting to lose.

"Check. Anyway." Amelia hissed through gritted teeth, lips bleached white as they were so tautly pinched.

James did not need to be told twice and he scurried up the newly repaired staircase with a healthy dose of fear. He walked the polished halls of Lestrange Manor, and grudgingly admitted that the Lestranges had style. Even though most of the furniture was covered and the walls were barren, the rooms tended to be large and airy with beautiful windows. There was a little too much green, silver, and black and way too many pieces of furniture with subtle snake carvings but considering whom the place belonged to, James figured it was to be expected.

James entered the Master Suite having found absolutely nothing to report back to Amelia with so far. He had a feeling there was nothing worth finding left in the Manor and the whole mission was going to be considered a failure. They captured no one, and found no Dark objects to remove, while simultaneously loosing one Auror and having another six injured. Really, the only positive was there was now undeniable proof that Rabastan and Bellatrix were also Death Eaters, or at least accomplices. But then again, everyone already knew that, they were just now allowed to act on it.

The Master Suite was as barren as all the other rooms, all the wooden furniture covered in white sheets. One piece in particular stood out to him. It was a few feet from the King sized bed, about one hundred and thirty centimeters in height, and round at the top. Feeling his curiosity peak, James reached forward and ripped the sheet off, wand at the ready. He nearly dropped it when he came face to face with a peacefully slumbering baby. He swallowed in convulsive shock.

"Well, I guess that explains were Bellatrix has been for the last few months," he murmured to himself. James briefly remembered Rodolphus telling Bellatrix to 'get Romulus' and he was pretty sure he just learned who Romulus was. Feeling far out of his depth, James rushed to get Amelia. She was in the foyer still, apparently waiting for backup to show up and keeping watch in case any of the Lestranges came back.

"Ma'am, you're going to want to see this," he told her simply, wanting to let the situation speak for itself. Amelia gave him a level look for a moment, and then followed him to the Master Suite after ordering someone else to keep watch. He let her enter the room first, and heard her sharp intake of breath as her eyes landed on the bassinet.

"Dear Merlin," she breathed. James agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment.

"I know. Poor kid. What a legacy to live up to," he shook his head in dismay. The poor thing was going to have a tough time of it with parents like those.

"Where do you think he'll end up? Sirius told me that Bellatrix's younger sisters are both married. Well, Narcissa is married to Lucius Malfoy and if you want to keep him out of Death Eater hands it might be best to avoid that," James babbled. It was another not-so-secret secret that Lucius Malfoy had some sort of dealings with Death Eaters; the exact nature of it was still pretty unclear to be honest.

"There's also Andromeda. She's pretty nice, I've met her, she has a sassy little daughter," James chuckled to himself. His only meeting with the fiery and dramatic little Nymphadora Tonks could still bring a smile to his face. She had dramatically flopped on to Sirius when he sat down, and exclaimed loudly with flailing hand gestures that he didn't love her any more because he never visited. Sirius tried to apologize but Nymphadora was having none of it. At least until he bribed her with a chocolate frog, then she was all smiles again.

"Oh, but I think Andromeda was formally disowned from the Black family when she married a Muggleborn, so I'm not actually sure if she has any legal claim," James wondered. Unlike Sirius, whose father had refrained from disowning him because he was the heir and Orion believed there was still time for him to come around and marry 'properly,' Andromeda was formally and legally cast from the family upon her marriage. She wouldn't inherit a knut from them.

"Does this mean the kid's going to go to an orphanage?" James asked, finally deciding that maybe filling up the silence hadn't been such a good idea as Amelia continued to stare intently into the bassinet. The silence stretched uncomfortably before them.

"Did you know," Amelia finally spoke up, sounding pensive, "that the Dark Lord grew up in a muggle orphanage?" she finally asked, confusing James greatly.

"Umm, no, I didn't know that," he replied uncertainly.

"Dumbledore told me, a few months ago, when we were talking about the war. He's convinced a lack of love is what created the Dark Lord. Said that all the pieces, the potential to do incredible evil would have always been in him, but the catalyst for embracing that Darkness was growing up loveless and alone," she continued, biting her lip.

"Okay?" James replied, not really sure where she was going with this.

"James, I want you to take the baby and go home," Amelia stated, nearly causing James to fall over in shock.

"You want me to WHAT?" he nearly shouted, and then immediately quieted down as the small figure shifted, not quite waking up.

"Take the baby home. Raise it. Love it. Teach it to be patient and giving and kind and everything you know those _monsters_ wouldn't bother to teach a child," Amelia practically spat the word monsters in reference to the Lestrange couple. "I know you and Lily have been trying for a kid and have yet to be successful," James suddenly wished he'd talked to Sirius about that topic any place other than at work.

"But that's kidnapping!" James sputtered, flabbergasted by what his strict and by-the-books superior was asking him to do. "There are procedures for this kind of thing, regulations and rules! You don't just find a kid and take it home with you like a stray puppy!"

"James, listen to me! The Department for Child Welfare won't give him to Narcissa because of the suspicions on her husband and you just told me Andromeda has no legal right to him! Anything further than an aunt or a grandparent is a relation too far for legal consideration unless they petition for custody and other than Sirius the rest of the Blacks are under suspicion anyway. It's hardly kidnapping if there's no place for him to go and no one who he legally belongs to. At worse, it's flouting regulation. If the boy goes to a muggle orphanage, in eleven years who knows what'll crawl out to join the Wizarding World! You've met his parents, he certainly doesn't have nature on his side, and I doubt an orphanage is a good place for nurture to overpower any personality traits he might inherit," Amelia stated, starting to sound way too logical for James' liking.

"What if Lily and I adopt him after he goes to an orphanage. You know, legally?" he tried, still uncomfortable with the whole kidnapping thing.

"If you do that, then everyone will know he was once Romulus Lestrange. It'll be a black mark on him that'll never be erased. You said it yourself, the poor kid has an awful legacy to haunt him, the son of an infamous pair of murderers," Amelia was looking him in the eye now, imploring him to see things her way. James could feel his resolve wavering dangerously. "James, please do this for me. His father killed my brother, orphaned my niece. If there is anyway I can prevent that child from traveling down the same path, I will, but I can't take him in myself. I can barely raise Susan alone, and honestly, I don't know if I'm… capable of treating them equally if I did, knowing who he is."

"But, what are we supposed to tell people then? That we adopted a random child on impulse? It wouldn't be possible to say he was actually ours, Lily hasn't been pregnant," James asked, starting to actually think through this. What would he tell Sirius, or Remus, or Peter? The truth? The lie?

"There are ways to conceal a pregnancy, just say you were nervous about Lily seeming like a vulnerable target considering her blood status. These are dangerous times, after all, people have done stranger things to keep their families safe," Amelia said, gaze returning to the still slumbering infant. It was so tiny, practically a newborn, maybe a few weeks old at most. Lily was due back in a week. If they stayed secluded for a few weeks together, it wouldn't be impossible to say Lily had the baby shortly after she returned home and they've been adjusting for a while. James bit his lip.

"He was probably registered as Romulus Lestrange at the Ministry automatically when he was named. Eventually someone will come across it and wonder where he is," James tried again, arguments getting feebler.

"I'll handle it. If you register him with the Goblins as a Potter heir, instead of the Ministry, that should take care of the name in most automatic systems, like his Hogwarts letter," Amelia explained.

James nodded slowly, and released a gusty sigh. Honestly, he was very tempted, and not just to stop the kid from growing into a Dark Lord. James was starting to worry that he might be infertile. He knew his parents struggled greatly to have him. It took years and they'd all but given up by the time he was conceived. They were an old couple, and he was the only child of parents who thought they'd never get the kid they'd so desperately wanted. They spoiled him rotten as a result. James couldn't imagine putting Lily through that kind of pain though, waiting years and years for a child she may never have because of him. But to adopt a child without telling her? She was going to kick his arse when she got home.

"Lily is going to kill me," he sighed as he reached into a bassinet and extracted the little bundle, holding him carefully. The child had ivory skin and deep black hair. It was so delicate and tiny as it lay nestled in his arms. It felt… right to hold this child close. Like he was doing the right thing. James decided to go with his instincts, they rarely let him down.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bellatrix and Rodolphus apparated onto their property under the light of the moon, the anti-apparation wards long since fallen. Their once living, breathing home now stood as a dark, petrified sentinel on the land. Feeling the wards and sensing no outsiders, Bellatrix practically stormed up to the house, angry beyond belief. Those complete morons who had 'rescued' them had thought it would be funny to leave them stunned until they woke up naturally. Bellatrix had thoroughly disabused them of that notion. It would be a miracle if Godfrey Goyle ever found his kneecaps.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus entered the manor quickly, candles flaring to life automatically to light their way. Bellatrix loved this old house; it was so loyal. Not very smart, but loyal to its family all the same. The staircase had been repaired so nothing impeded them from taking the most direct route to the Master Suite. The bassinet was where they'd left it, covered in a white sheet like all the other furniture. Bellatrix nodded her approval. After most of the houses objects disappeared, the Auror's most likely didn't bother with a thorough search. Her baby was probably exactly where they left him.

Rodolphus yanked the sheet away and Bellatrix froze. Empty. Her baby was gone. _Her baby was gone._ She shrieked high, loud and long. Rodolphus was staring numbly at the empty bassinet, looking too stunned for words. As if he hadn't actually believed there was any chance his only son wouldn't be there when they got back.

"Where… where would they take him?" he murmured.

Bellatrix was in no fit state to answer. She could feel that balance within her tipping. The curse of the Black family was often joked to be dubious sanity, but Bellatrix had never found it funny. She had always felt like she was clinging to control, decorum, _sanity_ by her fingertips. And now she had slipped. With her precious, beautiful, perfect baby boy in the hands of the damnable Ministry, Bellatrix felt like there wasn't a clear thought left in the world; and she didn't care because he was _gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone…_

Bellatrix shrieked again, this time in rage. They wouldn't get away with this! She would get her baby back and punish every single man, woman, and child who got in her way. The ones who took her Romulus, when she found them, would beg for mercy Bellatrix wasn't capable of, not anymore.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A week later and James was nervous. He was sitting on a couch in the living room, holding the baby he had yet to name while he waited for Lily to stride through the Floo at any moment. She was going to freak out; he just knew it. The past week had been a crash course in parenting for him and the biggest lesson he'd learned was that babies were exhausting. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten any decent sleep. Well he could. It was a week ago.

The baby looked up at him with big charcoal grey eyes that reminded James distinctly of Sirius. The baby was definitely a Black, there was no doubting it. He was going to have to do something about that. He'd figure it out when Lily got home, she was brilliant, and she may have an idea. Well, after she beat him into a bloody pulp. Green flared in the fireplace and James braced himself for Hurricane Lily.

A beautiful redhead stepped primly out into the living room, a suitcase in hand, a messenger bag slung across her shoulder, looking just as beautiful as when she left.

"Lily," he breathed. He couldn't help himself. He was such a sap, so very in love with her.

"James," her voice was bright, her smile brighter as she turned towards him. That same smile became tense and fixed in place as she caught sight of the bundle in his arms. She set her bags down on the floor, took out her wand, and let it tap warningly against an open palm as she sent him a forcibly calm look.

"James, there better be a damn good reason you're holding a dark-haired baby I've never seen before," her voice was ice and James cringed.

It actually took him a moment to understand what she was implying, and when he did he was horrified. He would NEVER cheat on Lily. She was the girl of his dreams. He's been after her since he first laid eyes on her as an immature, spoiled eleven year old. He would die before betraying her so completely, especially since their marriage had been going so well.

"NO, Lily, I swear it's not like that, he's not mine. Well, he is now, but not in the way you're thinking!" he babbled. Lily raised a single unimpressed eyebrow. James cringed again.

The whole story came tumbling out at once, everything from the raid to his strange conversation with Amelia. Lily stood there looking more and more disbelieving as he carried on, although she did stop tapping her wand threateningly, which James took as a good sign. Eventually, he had run out of words. So he did the only thing he could think of, and held out the baby for Lily's inspection. Lily paused unsurely before putting her wand away, sitting next to him on the couch, and taking the baby from him. She cooed down at the little boy, he was looking up at her curiously, before letting loose a toothless smile. Lily let out a little 'aw' in response. James was positive his new son was going to be a lady-killer when he got older.

"You know," Lily said "he looks a lot like Sirius. If I didn't know better I'd say you were… helping him out of a tight spot." James laughed loudly.

"Not for all of the Galleons in Gringotts," James laughed, imaging Padfoot asking him to raise his accidental kid. _So here's the thing, Prongs…_

Lily sighed, looking conflicted.

"There's really no family for him to go to?" she asked, but her heart wasn't in it, James could tell.

"All of the Blacks besides Sirius are under suspicion of Death Eater connections, or disowned with no legal claim. Until the war is over and that whole mess can be straightened out, the kid will go to an orphanage. Unless you think we should give him to Sirius…" James trailed off. Lily shot his an unimpressed look and James grinned widely. James loved his best friend dearly but he really wasn't the fatherly type. More of a cool uncle then a steady and fair disciplinarian. He'd make a good godfather though…

"I guess there's really only one option then, " Lily said, returning her gaze to the baby. A slow smile spread across her face and she held him a little closer to her body, maternal instincts already setting in, it would seem.

"There's still a few problems, though," James reminded her. "He looks a lot like Bellatrix, no one is going to believe he's ours looking like this," James said hoping Lily would have an idea. She got a decidedly calculated look into her eye.

"I think I can fix that, but you can't tell absolutely anyone James or I'll Obliviate you and not feel a smidge of guilt over it," Lily warned. James felt his interest peak.

"Does this have to do with your Unspeakable work?" he asked. Lily nodded once sharply, before handing James the baby and raising her wand. James felt powerful privacy wards rise around them. Lily had gotten paranoid over the last two months.

"We've been working on Glamour Charms," she began quickly, eyes darting around the room. "Trying to make them last longer, be stronger, more effective, change with the person as they grow, gain or lose weight, age. We aren't sure how long the latest method will last but we estimated maybe a decade. I could Glamour him to look like our son and when they weaken, I can recast them. Maybe we'll know how to anchor them permanently by then," she continued, talking more excitably as she went on.

"Really?" James asked, looking gob smacked. He knew all the ways someone could disguise himself or herself magically. It was a huge unit in Auror training. He knew a typical Glamour only lasted a few hours and wouldn't alter to match anything like a shift in height or even an injury. To have one that could last ten years and adjust itself was almost beyond comprehension. "What will he look like?"

Lily smiled a secret smile at his question. "I guess you'll find out, won't you? Here, lay him on the couch," she commanded. James followed her orders, standing up with Lily and laying the child down carefully. Lily pointed her wand at the child, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Romulus had fallen asleep.

Lily chanted under her breath, wand moving in slow methodical movements. Lines of golden magic left her wand, crisscrossing the tiny body on the couch. After ten minutes of chanting the boy was obscured completely, a little brightly glowing bundle that seemed to collapse before his very eyes. The light dimmed slowly fading into shape.

On the couch laid a mini James. The skin was a little tanner than it's previous ivory, the hair had puffed up from controlled silk just starting to curl into an unmanageable mess. The features had shifted, becoming a little less pointed. The baby opened sleepy eyes, revealing mini emeralds.

"Awww," James couldn't help it, he was just so cute with his hair and Lily's beautiful eyes in a round baby face. This kid was going to have him wrapped around his little figure.

Lily smiled in satisfaction, stowing her wand and picking the baby up, rocking him lightly until he fell back asleep.

"He still needs a name," Lily whispered, looking down at the baby with affection and a new love.

"I've been thinking about that, actually. How do you feel about naming him after my grandfather, Henry?" James asked. He liked the name Henry quite a bit; there'd been several Henry Potter's over the ages, all upstanding men who fought for the weak and unprotected. He wanted that legacy for his son born to such strife, who'd have to rise above his birthright. In addition to his grandfather, he'd also read the journal of a Henry Potter from the 1700's he'd found in the family vault a few years ago. That Henry, Henry William Potter, had been one of several adopted Potter's who'd taken on the Lord title of their family. The Potter's had always supported the family it chose to gain as well as the family born into it. Adoptions weren't as uncommon in the Potter family as one would think. It made James feel much better about the whole thing. Lily grimaced spectacularly at the suggestion.

"I knew a Henry in primary school. He used to eat bugs and push people off the swings. He broke Petunia's wrist doing that," Lily said. James felt his heart fall.

"How about Harry? That way you can still honor your grandfather with a derivative of his name but he can be his own man. Harry Potter." James felt his heart pick right back up.

"Harry Potter. I like it," he said with a warm smile. "Middle name?"

Lily rolled her eyes affectionately.

"James, of course. Don't try to be humble, it doesn't suit you and your big head," Lily teased. James smiled at the old insult; some things never change.

"Harry James Potter. What do you think little buddy? Does Harry sound good?" James asked the baby still held in Lily's arms. The newly dubbed Harry opened his eyes drowsily once more and then snuggled closer to Lily, falling back to sleep.

"I'll take that as a yes," Lily sighed happily. James was positive they'd done the right thing.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hey Padfoot, guess what."

"What, Prongsie?"

"You're Harry's godfather, congratulations."

"Why thank you James, I always knew- wait, who's Harry?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

James strolled into Gringotts cautiously, you could never be too careful in these Dark times. He had a meeting set up with his account manager to ensure that, no matter what came to light, Harry would be able to inherit all the Potter assets.

The rules for adoptions and custody were looser with the Goblins than they were with the Ministry. It didn't matter where James picked Harry up as long as he was named his heir according to Goblin law. Not to mention Goblin confidentiality was legendary. He could stand on a desk in the middle of the lobby shouting that his son was once previously Romulus Lestrange and somehow the Goblins would still find a way to keep that under wraps as long as he paid the appropriate fees. James opted to quietly fill out the proper paperwork instead.

He also left a letter with his account manager, just in case something happened to him and Lily, and Harry came looking for answers.

 _Dearest Harry, Son of my Heart…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

James and Lily Potter took to parenthood like fish to water. They adored their son, wanted to protect him and keep him happy. So when they heard that Voldemort was after them for one too many instances of defiance, they were more than willing to go into hiding, if only to keep their son safe. And when Sirius suggested they switch the job of Secret Keeper to Peter to keep people off their trail further, they were amendable to an added layer of protection. And when Voldemort attacked despite their protections, they gladly died for the son of their heart, if not their blood.

When Voldemort turned his wand on his favored Lieutenant's only son, it was the love of the family you choose, not the family you're born too, that repelled the Killing Curse.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Albus Dumbledore laid the infant Harry Potter on his maternal Aunts doorstep, he expected the Blood Wards to activate immediately. They did not. He sent Minerva and Hagrid away, to mourn or celebrate at their discretion, and waited- invisible to the muggle eye. He waited for hours, hoping that the wards were charging or there was some minor interference from the Dark magic that struck the youngest Potter, and that it would dissipate with time. It did not.

It wasn't until Petenia Dursley opened her front door that morning, took the boy into the home proper, read the letter, argued with her husband, and ultimately decided to keep her nephew, did the wards snap into place. They weren't as strong as Dumbledore had anticipated, but they were powerful enough, and the autonomy of muggle suburbia was a protection all its own. Dumbledore still did not quite understand the delay; he eventually decided that it must have been interference from the Killing Curse and left it at that.

It would be a long time before he understood that the wards were contingent on the Dursley's choosing to be Harry's family, and weakened by their grudging dispositions. After all, Harry shared no blood with the perfectly normal Dursley family, thank you very much.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bellatrix Lestrange was going mad. She knew it to, she was aware. She just didn't give a damn. Three weeks. She'd only been given three peaceful weeks with her pwecious son before those mean Aurors took him from her. It had been over a year and no matter how many Aurors she tortured for information or killed in rage she was no closer to finding her Romulus than she was fourteen months ago. Her Lord seemed pleased with her increased efficiency, but even that couldn't bring joy to her heart like it used to.

She could tell Rodolphus was falling into the madness too. The stress of the search was getting to him and no matter how hard Rabastan tried to keep his brother clear headed he was failing. Desperation clung to Rodolphus like a fitted cloak.

It was on October 31st, 1981, however, when Bellatrix gave up the last tattered vestiges of control. Her Lord was gone, just like her baby. She new he couldn't be gone forever though. Her Lord had made contingencies should anyone try to strike him down. She would find her Lord and her baby as well. And she knew exactly where to start. Frank Longbottom had been there the day she lost her son. She remembered dueling with the wretched blood traitor in the Manor. He was also part of the Order of the Phoenix along with his blood traitor wife. She'd find the Longbottoms and get every scrap of information out of them. If the Order knew where her Lord was, they'd tell her. If Longbottom knew where her baby was, she'd know.

That night Bellatrix and Rodolphus dragged Rabastan and Barty Crouch Jr to the home of Frank, Alice, and Neville Longbottom. Frank and Alice, knowing none of the answers the Lestranges were seeking, were tortured into insanity. The Leastranges and Crouch were captured later that night.


	2. Slowly and then All at Once

**July 1995**

Harry James Potter of Number Four Privet Drive was tired. Sometimes he felt like he'd been tired his entire life. Years of hard work for his miserable relatives and then intense adventures at Hogwarts had made him more-or-less impervious to the sensation, though, so he continued to pull weeds in thirty five degrees Celsius heat like it was any other day.

The grueling yard work wasn't the sole contributing factor to his exhaustion, either. He'd been having horrible nightmares since the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament. It felt like every night he was watching Cedric Diggory, a young adult full of promise and life, drop to the mossy unforgiving ground, a corpse. Every night he was haunted by Cedric's ghost or that of the groundskeeper for Riddle House, or even his own parents' spectral forms. Every night he stared into the blood red eyes of Lord Voldemort and felt the monster within stare right back.

Harry was only getting a few hours of sleep each night, and none of it would be called restful. He took a bit of vindictive pleasure in knowing that his relatives weren't dreaming peacefully either. How could he help it if he woke up screaming? Maybe he'd feel a bit better, or at least less traumatized, if someone would talk to him about it. Or talk to him about anything, for that matter. All of the letters he had received this summer, be they from his friends, Sirius, or Remus, were filled with vague platitudes and pretentious warnings. Harry had stopped opening them and stopped sending them letters. What was the point? He felt lied too, and he wasn't even sure what about. Hedwig was a good listener, but conversations with her were decidedly one sided.

Harry wiped a big bead of sweat off his forehead trying to avoid smearing it with dirt simultaneously. It was so _hot_ this week. The heat wave was relentless and the Dursley's were far too bitter about their sleepless nights recently to let him spend time indoors.

Harry went to go grab another weed when his vision blurred. He stopped to blink a few times, but the blurriness wouldn't go away. Great. Wasn't blurred vision supposed to be an early warning sign of heat stroke? Was this it? Death by gardening in muggle suburbia? Don't worry Voldemort, you can rest easy, nature has got you covered with this whole 'death to Harry Potter' business. Harry squeezed his eyes shut forcefully for a few moments and removed his glasses to wipe them on his shirt. When he opened his eyes in the middle of the process, he was staring at a rose bush in perfect clarity. Harry fell back on his arse in shock.

He could see! For as long as Harry could remember, his vision had been impaired. He hadn't gotten glasses until his third year in primary school, but he'd definitely needed them before that point. As he grew, his eyesight had only gotten progressively worse until he couldn't do anything without having his glasses on. But he could see the rose bush just fine now without the glasses. In fact, he could count each individual rose and he was four meters away from it!

"Boy! Get back to work!" Uncle Vernon shouted from the back porch. Harry made a show of turning back to the weeds, just to keep his uncle off his back. He had a theory that his aunt and uncle were severely overworking him in the hopes that he will be so tired at night that he'll pass out and sleep nightmare free. It'd almost be sweet if he didn't know for a fact that they're only doing it for their peace at night, not his.

Harry slipped his newly redundant glasses into his pocket. He'd heard somewhere that people can sort of grow back into correct vision. Maybe that's what happened? It certainly made the most sense. It was that or accidental magic fixed his eyesight, but considering the number of witches and wizards he'd seen with glasses, he was pretty sure there was no magical fix to bad vision. Then again, who knew? Even though Harry spent most of the year at school learning the limits of what magic was capable of, there was still an eleven year old inside of him that believed magic could do anything.

Harry's dreams were different that night. Instead of haunting visions of a graveyard, Harry dreamed of golden light. He dreamed of green eyes staring from the darkness only to turn grey as the light touched them. He dreamed of his round, wireframe glasses dissolving from view in a delicate golden wave. And then he dreamed of nothing at all. When Harry woke up the next morning, his vision was still perfect.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were so pleased by their perceived success of ending Harry's nightmares with hard labor that they created a whole new exclusively outdoors chores list for another day of the heat wave. Harry was a little nervous about this. When he'd looked in the mirror this morning, he'd looked decidedly pale, he was worried he was getting sick, and long hours slaving away in the summer sun probably wouldn't help. Then again, they wouldn't care a whit if he brought it up to them, so he really didn't have a choice in the matter.

Harry was giving the shed a new coat of paint when he really started to feel like he was burning. The back of his neck and his face in particular felt like the skin was shrinking, dry and too tight to cover all it needed to. He pressed his fingers into what he was sure was going to be a painful sunburn and received a sharp pang from the abused skin. Finishing the shed as quickly as possible, Harry went inside for lunch and a desperate attempt to hide from the midday heat.

"Boy, stop lazing about. I noticed you haven't washed the car yet or mowed the lawn," Aunt Petunia's screech pervaded the kitchen as Harry went to take a bite of an apple. He turned around to face her, and got to see her eyes widen comically for his trouble.

"What did you do to your face?" she asked suspiciously. Harry felt a little worried by that point.

"What's wrong with my face? I thought it was just a sunburn," Harry exclaimed.

Aunt Petunia, instead of answering, turned and left the kitchen. She returned a minute later, all but chucking a bottle of sunscreen at his head.

"Get back to work."

Harry internally debated going to check his face in the mirror at the risk of getting yelled at, but ultimately decided against it. No matter what he saw in his reflection, he was going to have to go back out there to finish his chores if he wanted dinner. It seemed the threat of his mass murdering godfather had faded with time, and withholding meals from Harry was once more an acceptable threat. It didn't help that Dudley was on a diet now, so even when Harry did get to eat, it was dramatically healthy and always less than Dudley's reduced portions. He was just glad he'd had the forethought to stock up on a bit of food before coming back to the Dursleys, but he was getting very sick of Pumpkin Pasties and Licorice Wands.

Mowing the yard and washing the car, Harry finished just in time to make a carefully balanced supper of skinless chicken and asparagus. Vernon and Dudley shot him strange looks throughout the meal, but didn't comment for once, which Harry would have been grateful for if he could get a moment alone to figure out what was worth staring at.

Finally, after cleaning the kitchen and washing the dishes, Harry was able to sneak off into the upstairs bathroom. He locked the door behind them and then looked into the mirror with all the intensity of a teenage girl developing a zit the day before prom. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong, and when he did, his head jerked back in surprise. His face was definitely sunburned as he'd suspected, bright pink radiated across the bridge of his nose, painting his forehead and cheeks. The weird thing, however, was the burn free skin along the column of his throat and peeking out of his t-shirt. It was alabaster pale, as if it had been bleached of all color.

Harry had always had a healthy, glowing tan about him. He'd spent large parts of his life outside, doing yard work and playing Quidditch. Even in the Scottish winters at Hogwarts when he was all but locked inside the castle due to the weather, he'd still maintained some natural color. Now he was as pale as he'd ever been, if one discounted the burnt patches.

Harry looked down at his hands, finding more ivory skin spread across his arms. He hadn't noticed earlier since he hadn't been looking for anything wrong with his skin in general, too focused on the supposed problem with his face. Harry quickly yanked his shirt off, having to be sure it wasn't just his arms and face. His chest was as newly pallid as the rest of him.

Harry briefly got flashes of Draco Malfoy and his colorless complexion and did a quick mental comparison to his own new skin tone. He cringed internally; it was a sad day in Surrey when Harry had to use Draco Malfoy as a reference point for his appearance. He instead thought of Sirius and his ivory coloring. When Harry had first met Sirius newly out of Azkaban, Sirius had been waxen- his skin practically yellow and radiating ill health. When Harry saw Sirius after the Third Task, however, he'd seemed much healthier. The yellowish tinge was gone, but Sirius was still aristocratically fair.

Harry dropped the shirt to the floor and slid sown the wall to join it. What was wrong with him? It was a subtle change, sure, a lightening of the skin that someone who didn't see him often might not even notice, but it was also completely nonsensical. Who got _paler_ in the summer? And his eyesight? Was that a related change? What was happening?

For a brief moment, Harry considered sending a letter to Hermione or Ron or Sirius to see if one of them knew something about what was going on, but he viscously discarded the idea. If they wouldn't share information about something as severe as what Voldemort was up too, they probably wouldn't bother to reply to inquiries about a subtle change in appearance. A small part of him whispered that that wasn't fair to his friends, that he didn't know why they were being secretive so he shouldn't judge so harshly, but a much louder voice was hurt by their reticence and wanted to keep his own secrets to snub them. Naturally, the louder voice won.

Harry was plagued by more dreams of strange golden light that night. The next morning, when Harry went to get dressed, his jeans were a few centimeters too short. Harry normally would have been overjoyed at the idea that he was growing taller- he'd always been one of the shorter boys of his year, and it never helped that Ron was one of the tallest- but on top of all the other small changes, he found it disconcerting.

Aunt Petunia seemed uncomfortable with the simultaneous burning and bleaching of his skin, so all of the chores she assigns are inside that day. Harry doesn't realize it, may never realize it, but she concurrently saved Harry a lot of trouble and damned one of her neighbors with her small act of mercy.

While Harry is vigorously dusting a multitude of family photos he's not in, Dementors are sweeping through Little Whinging. Dudley is at a friend's house instead of the park because there is no Harry there to taunt. Instead, Harry is safe behind the Blood Wards surrounding the home that had taken him in, while Mudungus Fletcher, who should be guarding Harry, gets an excellent deal on some stolen cauldrons and Arabella Figg is at home feeding her cats.

The only people to ever know there were Demetors on Privet Drive will be a frustrated Dolores Jane Umbridge, and a widowed elder gentlemen from Number Twelve who chose to go on a walk at an unfortunate time. The next day, Harry will overhear Petunia gossiping on the phone about Mr. Wilkes of Number Twelve being found catatonic in the street and dying in the local hospital hours later, supposedly of a stroke. Harry will feel a brief flash of pity for the older man, but know there was nothing he could have done for him, you can't fight nature after all.

A few days pass and Harry's sunburn heals quickly- much more quickly than was natural, but Harry and the Dursley's were in silent agreement not to bring it up. With the red gone, Harry's face was open planes of undisturbed ivory. He didn't have a single freckle or blemish and it was freaking him out. The changes seemed to halt for a few days, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He could live with being taller, paler, and without his glasses as long as nothing else changed.

Harry's dreams shifted once again. Instead of reliving Voldemort's resurrection or observing the mysterious golden light, Harry suffered from nonsensical nightmares that always faded from memory as he woke up. A high, silky voice echoing through the darkness, a flash of green, a splash of blood, incomprehensible screaming. Harry, even if he couldn't remember them well, found the dreams highly disconcerting. He sent for a book on dreams through owl order to Flourish and Blotts and waited for Hedwig to return while dark smudges painted themselves under his green eyes. Until his eyes weren't green anymore.

It was a week before Harry's birthday and the reveal of his new eye color was nothing special. He went to the bathroom for his morning ablutions, looked up into the mirror after splashing cold water in his face, and made eye contact with grey eyes in his reflection. He froze in surprise.

His mum's eyes were gone. The most distinct feature he had inherited from his mother _was gone_. He ran to his room and locked the door, giving into the panic that he had been fighting off for days now. This was too much. At least with the other changes, he was still fundamentally _Harry_. James Potter's copy with Lily Evan's eyes. But now he was missing that vital piece that connected him to the mother he never knew but wanted to desperately. Harry felt nauseous.

He decided it was time to put pride and his hurt feelings on the backburner. He wrote a panicked note to Sirius, detailing all the changes and more or less begging for help or answers- whichever came first. It wasn't until he signed his name that he crashed back to Earth. Hedwig was gone. Off to pick up a book for a problem that seemed much less significant at the moment. He gripped his hair in frustration. He couldn't win.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon yelled at Harry through his door several times that day, demanding he cook this, or clean that if he wanted to eat. Harry didn't feel like eating so he didn't bother responding to their raised voices. Eventually they gave up, much to Harry's relief. The banging on the door had been irritating. He spent most of the day waiting for Hedwig to come back. The only owl that actually did show up was carrying an edition of the Daily Prophet. He scanned it quickly for mentions of Voldemort or Death Eater activity. An official from the Department of Mysteries was missing and the blame was being pinned on 'notorious mass murderer Sirius Black.' Harry crumpled up the paper and threw it in the bin.

Harry turned restlessly that night. Hedwig was still gone, and if Harry learned she was dithering about hunting rats, she was going to get a stern talking to. When sleep did finally claim him, it was all golden light. It pervaded every inch of his being, a warm pulse cascading over his body like liquid sunshine. It began fading like a dimming light bulb, and as the intensity faded, another person in the blank open space of his dream became apparent. He was lean, with messy dark hair, and wire rimmed glasses covering a pair of emerald eyes. Harry was looking at a copy of himself from before the changes started.

The doppelgänger smiled at him, looking wistful and a bit sad. He gestured to his right, and Harry's gaze followed the motion. An ornate mirror, looking just like the Mirror of Erised sans the inscription, stood innocently in the dreamscape. Harry looked from the mirror to the other Harry, who motioned toward it once again. Biting his lip, Harry approached the artifact warily, anticipating the forms of his family to appear once he stood in front of it properly. He was wrong.

A stranger stood there instead. Pale and grey eyed with silky black curls and a tall broad physique. Ron had his arm swung over the strangers shoulders, and was talking animatedly and laughing. Hermione was on the stranger's other side, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation at something the Ron in the mirror had said. Sirius and Remus were behind him, each with a proud grin on their face. Sirius looked completely healed from his time in Azkaban, like he did in the pictures in Harry's photo album, and Remus looked energized and scar free.

In the background other people moved in and out of focus. Ginny was waving next to a beaming Mrs. Weasley; Mr. Weasley stood next to them fiddling with a rubber duck. The twins popped in and out, making silly faces or putting bunny ears up behind Hermione or Ron. Dumbledore in periwinkle robes was sucking on a lemon drop, eyes twinkling madly. In the far distance of the reflection, a painting hung above a fireplace with a smiling James and Lily Potter looking down on the others fondly.

All the while, the stranger stood in the forefront with a small grin on his face. Harry noticed that he looked quite a bit like Sirius and wondered if they were related. Harry went to raise his hand and touch the mirror, but froze when the stranger copied the action in perfect synchronization. Breathing shakily, Harry continued the motion until his fingers lightly brushed the cold glass. There was a loud crack, and the mirror shattered.

Harry rocketed up into a sitting position in bed, sweating profusely and panting as if there wasn't enough air in his cramped bedroom. He stood up on unsteady legs, looking at the electric alarm clock on his bedside table. Bright red letters told him it was three in the morning. Harry staggered tremulously to the door, shaking hands struggling with the knob. He lurched across the hallway to the second floor bathroom. His hand scrabbled desperately for the light switch. The room was filled with harsh white light and Harry had to blink spots from his vision, before turning to the full body mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door. The stranger from his dream stood in his reflection, looking stressed and panicked. Harry couldn't help it: he screamed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In a high security jail cell in Azkaban Wizarding Prison, Bellatrix Lestrange snapped awake from a particularly brutal nightmare where some pathetic Aurors killed her baby. She shrieked.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Let me in, Freak! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, screaming at 3am? Waking decent, hard working, normal people? Freak! Open the ruddy door!" Vernon Dursley shouted through the wood of the bathroom. Harry ignored him. He was too busy trying to regulate his panicked breathing, not that it was doing much good.

Oh, god. He wasn't… He didn't…. He _looked_ … Harry tried to pull himself together, and imagine what the change in appearance could mean. Did someone slip him a potion of some sort? A strange offshoot of Polyjuice Potion that took a few days to transform whoever drank it? But what would be the point? Who would have anything to gain from making him look like someone else? Harry dropped his face into his hands. Absentmindedly, he felt the faint ridge on his forehead that was his lightning bolt scar. At least that was still there then. Harry laughed humorlessly. The one feature he wouldn't mind getting rid of was the only one to stay. He really did have awful luck.

When Harry felt more collected he stood up to give his new look a thorough examination. This probably wasn't that a big a deal. Just a temporary state. He'd talk to Sirius, and he'd know what to do, or they'd go to Dumbledore and _he'd_ know what to do. With those uplifting thoughts in mind, Harry faced the mirror.

Charcoal grey eyes, heavy lidded and compelling stared out of an aristocratically pale face. His cheekbones were high; he had a straight nose and a square jaw. His chin was more pointed then it used to be and his lips were much fuller. His cheeks were rather hollow at the moment, from the summer's short rations, but it wasn't anything a few weeks at Hogwarts wouldn't fix. The lightning bolt scar was right were he left it. His hair no longer defied gravity in unmanageable tufts, but instead wild black curls framed his face. Overall, he was kind of… pretty. Harry would almost be worried that he looked feminine if it wasn't for his strong jaw and his new build. He'd grown quite a bit, perhaps ten centimeters or so, and his shoulders were much broader. He was still pretty lean, though the muscle he did have was well toned from Quidditch practice and physical labor. Overall, if this was some prank and the goal was to make him funny looking or hideous, it had failed.

While Harry had been giving himself a thorough examination in the mirror, Uncle Vernon had given up and gone back to bed, murmuring about ungrateful brats. Harry decided he was going to have to hide out away from the Dursleys until someone came to help. He could just imagine their reactions if they saw him now, completely transformed, and it wasn't pretty.

Harry quietly made his way back to his room, ignoring the excessive locks on the outside of his door and the cat flap. Harry was pretty sure the only reason he wasn't a stuttering ball of an abused wreck was because he never had time to ruminate on his childhood. He was far too busy dodging an insane murderer at school to contemplate cupboards or barred windows. Now that he thought of _that_ , he was even more convinced that over thinking the past at all would send him hurtling to the edges of sanity. Maybe it already had, and he hadn't started looking completely different, maybe he was just mad.

Harry was drawn from his musings on his own mental stability by the welcoming hoot of the newly returned Hedwig. She had a book shaped package and a letter tied to her leg, which she held out proudly. She had backed off when he first approached her, but after a moment she seemed to realize he was still Harry and she hopped forward. It figures she would return _now_.

Harry relieved her of her burden, fed her an owl treat, and stroked her feathers a few times before opening the letter. It was a short missive apologizing for the wait and explaining they had been out of the book he requested, so they had had to wait for a new delivery before sending Hedwig back. They had knocked ten percent off the book for his trouble.

While Harry was still intensely curious about the state of his dreams, it wasn't his biggest problem at the moment. He placed the book on his nightstand before retrieving the letter he'd written for Sirius. He grimaced when he realized that it was now essentially obsolete. He rewrote it quickly, his messy scrawl looking worse than usual in his haste. Hedwig tilted her head curiously when Harry went to attach it to her leg. Harry generally didn't send her on back-to-back deliveries because he didn't want to tire her out, but this was an emergency.

"I'm sorry, girl, but I need you to get this to Sirius as quickly as possible. It's really important," Harry gestured vaguely to his new face. Hedwig looked at him with solemn amber eyes before nibbling his finger comfortingly and launching herself into the night. Not for the first time, Harry wondered if Hedwig was actually a lot smarter than other magical post owls.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sirius Black couldn't sleep. He'd been battling insomnia since Azkaban and it wasn't unusual for him to get up early, go to bed late, and wake up in the middle of the night to wander around a bit. His nightmares were brutal and haunting and it always took him a few gut-wrenching moments upon waking up to remember that he wasn't in a prison cell being harassed into insanity by Dementors.

His sleeping troubles were why he was sitting at the kitchen table at six am, a cup of tea cooling in front of him, waiting for either Molly to come down and start breakfast for Arthur to eat before going to work or Remus to wander down because he had the distinct personality flaw of being a morning person. Sirius was hoping it would be Remus, he found Molly's company to be overpowering and often irritating.

It wasn't her fault completely; she was the undisputed leader of her family and needed to have a powerful personality to keep her brood in line. But she also often forgot exactly _whose house_ her family was staying in. Sirius thought it was bad enough he was locked in this tomb; he certainly wasn't going to take orders in it as well.

The creaking of ancient poorly cared for stairs brought him out of his thoughts. The kitchen door swung open to reveal the scruffy form of Remus Lupin, much to Sirius' satisfaction.

"'Lo Remus," Sirius greeted.

"Morning Sirius," Remus returned before pouring his own cup of tea. Another reason Sirius preferred Remus' company first thing in the morning is that he didn't ask a lot of unnecessary questions. _How'd you sleep, Sirius? How long have you been up? You know it's not healthy to sleep so little, don't you?_

Remus joined Sirius at the table and sipped his tea with a contented sigh. Sirius had made that himself instead of asking Kreacher to do it, and as a result it tasted better. Kreacher was the very definition of a passive aggressive house-elf. He wouldn't clean to please a blood-traitor Master without a direct command, and even with the direct command to make tea it was always intentionally sub-par: too strong or too weak. Sirius was convinced that had his bound servitude allowed it, Kreacher would have poisoned him by now through tea or other means.

"Molly wants you to open the wards on the drawing room today so she can start clearing it out a bit before the kids clean it," Remus said conversationally. Sirius grimaced.

Molly was on a one-woman mission to turn this miserable house into a _home_. She'd tackled the kitchen first, then the main floor sitting room, followed by some work on the guest bedrooms. Now she wanted to clear out the drawing room on the second floor despite Sirius' vehement protests. She insisted there needed to be more rooms that people could gather in after Order meetings then the sitting room and the kitchen. Sirius told her to clear out the library instead. Molly replied that considering the content of that library, the fewer people in it the better. Sirius was hard pressed to argue that point, he knew the libraries contents better than anyone.

A little known fact to the Order of the Phoenix was that Sirius was, by all means, a Dark Wizard. His magical inclination had been bent toward the Dark since he was a child, ordered to study those same books that Molly wanted to keep out of the way of guests. The Order assumed that his rebellion from his family was due to him being a Light wizard by a freak matter of chance, but it was actually because his family was filled with depraved mad men, had a streak of cruelty as wide as the Hogwarts grounds, and they supported an evil, noseless terrorist. Sirius chose to use Light magic because most of the side against the Dark Lord was made up of Light wizards, but a Dark Cutting Curse would always come just a little more naturally than a Light one.

Remus knew about his magical orientation. Remus himself was a Grey wizard, having been born with Light magic and then bitten by a Dark creature. Dumbledore was also aware of his inclination, but Sirius had a going theory that Dumbledore could _see_ magic, so that honestly wasn't surprising. The only other people in the Order that knew were his cousin Nymphadora Tonks, who knew because she was family and aware that all the Pureblood Blacks were Dark, including her mother and Sirius, and Snape. Sirius wasn't sure if Snape was simply observant, which Sirius grudgingly knew he was, or if he had heard about it from Regulus or Bellatrix back in the old days. He could practically hear his vile cousin's voice echoing in his head. _Aw, it's so cute how my dearest cousin thinks he can play with phoenixes and it'll make him a Light wizard…_

So yes, Sirius was _very_ aware of all the Dark and occasionally downright strange things one could pick up in the Black library. That didn't mean he wanted to crack open the drawing room though. He hadn't been in there since he was fifteen and ran away the summer after fifth year, and wasn't exactly eager to see his spot on the family tree burnt off by his mother's own hand. Sirius hated his mother in life, hates her portrait in death, but stills feels a little stab of pain in his chest to know that she hated him just as much, probably more. His was the only burnt off name that hadn't been formally disowned. His father hadn't allowed it, but that had not stopped Walburga Black from expressing just how much of a disappointment her eldest son was.

He didn't want to go into the drawing room and see the black smudge that should be him, or Uncle Alphard, or Andromeda. Sirius generally considered himself a courageous person, a Gryffindor through and through, but he'd spent twelve years in Azkaban being haunted by the demons in his past, and if he wanted to leave this skeleton in his closet he would. Maybe if Molly was really insistent, he'd remove the wards but like hell was he actually going to go in there.

"She really isn't going to let the drawing room go, is she?" he asked morosely. Remus gave him an apologetic smile.

"I don't believe so, no."

They lapsed into silence for a moment that was interrupted by the pop of house-elf Apparition.

"Blood Traitor Master, this owl bes wishing to sees you," Kreacher croaked out. Hedwig was perched on his head with a determined look in her eye and a letter tied to her foot. Sirius and Kreacher had learned quickly that Hedwig doesn't like to relinquish her mail to anyone but the recipient, and that includes house-elves. She could be downright vicious when she wanted to be, Sirius remembers a rough peck to the hand from her when he'd removed a letter and set it aside to read later. Unsurprisingly, Kreacher had grown fond of the snowy owl after that.

Hedwig hopped off of Kreacher and on to the table. Holding out her leg imperiously for Sirius to take the letter. Sirius obliged quickly; far be it from him to deny a lady. A quick flash of guilt stabbed through Sirius. Harry hadn't written in two weeks to anyone and Sirius was positive it was because all they've been sending him is bullshite platitudes. Sirius had more or less begged to be allowed to send Harry something a little more substantial, but had been thoroughly denied. The last letter that he'd sent Harry was an apology for the evasiveness, without an explanation of course, and he hadn't gotten a reply back. Sad but unsurprising.

His name was written on the outside of the letter, looking sloppy and rushed and it sent a thrill of worry through Sirius. Remus seemed to notice the hasty writing as well because he requested that Sirius read the letter aloud if he wouldn't mind. Sirius opened the letter warily, and saw more of the cramped, rushed script.

"' _Sirius, something's happened,_ '" Sirius read aloud, wincing. That wasn't a good start.

"' _I don't look like myself anymore. It started a few days ago, I got paler and taller and I didn't need my glasses anymore and I tried to explain it away even though it made no sense that I was getting paler while working outside in summer. But then my eyes changed color for no reason at all from green to a sort of grey color- it's similar to your eye color actually- and I was going to owl you but then everything changed! I don't look like myself at all anymore! Do you have any idea what's going on? I thought maybe Polyjuice but the change was too gradual. I'm hoping it's a prank or something but I can't see the point. Please, Sirius, if you know anything tell me. I feel like I'm going mad here, and no one is telling me anything. I'm hiding out from the Dursley's cause they'll freak out if they see me but that's not exactly a solution. If you don't know could you ask Remus or Dumbledore or someone who might know what's going on? Please, Sirius, I need help. Harry.'"_

Remus and Sirius looked at each other for a moment before Sirius set the letter down.

"I'm going to get him."

"Sirius! You can't," Remus replied, while Sirius stood up to go get dressed in some muggle clothes for his impending rescue mission.

"Like hell I can't! Were you listening to that letter, Moony? Something's happened, and the poor kid is freaking out. I haven't been there for Harry when I should have in the past, but I'm here now, and I'm going to help him."

Sirius marched purposefully up the stairs, Remus on his heels.

"But Dumbledore said-" Sirius cut him off.

"I don't give a centaur's arse what Dumbledore said. Harry needs me; I'm going to help him. Are you going to try and stop me, Remus?" Sirius turned to look Remus in the eye, trying to determine if they were going to have to duel it out.

"No, but I'm coming with you to make sure you don't do anything stupid," Moony announced. Sirius smiled. Just like old times.

"Do you know who's on watch this morning?" Sirius asked flippantly. It didn't matter; he was going to rescue Harry no matter who was there.

"Tonks, I believe," Remus answered promptly. All the better really, Nymph would at least _ask_ what they were doing before running off to Dumbledore if they gave a less than satisfactory answer. That's more than he could say for some of the other Order members.

One quick change into jeans, a t-shirt, and an old soft leather jacket later, Sirius and Remus were Apparating to Magnolia Crescent. As a precaution (i.e. at Moony's insistence) Sirius shifted into his Animagus form. In any other situation, Sirius would have been soaking up the smell of early morning dew and thoroughly enjoying his first outing in weeks, but he had a godson to rescue. Rolling blithely in the grass could wait. With that particularly doggy thought in mind, Sirius bounded for Number Four Privet Drive with Remus trying to keep pace.

Sirius more or less remembered where the house was from his short sojourn here to see Harry after he broke out of Azkaban, but he still had to be pretty thorough when looking for Number Four because all of the bleeding houses looked _exactly_ alike. Muggles.

They arrived at Number Four just as the light went on in the living room window. It seems the Dursley's were just getting up for the day. Harry's uncle probably had to get ready for work, and Sirius was pretty sure that Harry's aunt was a housewife.

Remus knocked politely on the front door, and Sirius stood up straighter, trying to look a little more menacing. Sirius did not like Harry's relatives, period. He suspected they treated Harry terribly. After all, a child happy with their living situation doesn't just agree to live with their recently escaped convict godfather that they properly met a few hours before hand. The fact that Harry was so enthusiastic about the offer had been equal parts pleasing and worrying for Sirius.

"Who knocks on the bleeding door at six thirty?" barked a deep, angry voice. Sirius assumed it was Harry's uncle, and was proven right when a gargantuan, red-faced man with a walrus mustache and very little neck swung the door open aggressively. He was wearing a checkered bathrobe and an ugly look on his face. Sirius estimated the man was about three years short of a debilitating heart attack.

"What do you want? Do you realize what ungodly hour it is?" he questioned snidely. Sirius growled in irritation.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but my name is Remus Lupin and I'm here to see your nephew, Harry Potter," Remus said in what Sirius dubbed his 'professor voice.' It was gentle and calming and consummately professional. It also seemed to have no effect on Vernon Dursley.

"You're one of those freaks, aren't you? Stay away from my house!" the newly purple-faced muggle went to slam the door in their faces, but Remus was quick, throwing his arm out to catch it before it could close completely.

"Sorry, but it's urgent," Remus huffed, exerting a little werewolf given strength to reopen the door, despite Vernon's best efforts.

"Fine then," he growled as Remus extracted his wand in a deceptively casual move. The threat was clear but not too aggressive. Remus was the subtlest of the Marauders. "See if you can get the brat to leave his room, upstairs, first door on the right. Haven't seen him in two days, but he's still a nuisance- screaming at all hours of the night. Do whatever you need too, then get out and take your ruddy mutt with you!" Vernon threw a weary look at Sirius before lumbering toward the kitchen.

Sirius was bounding up the stairs in seconds. He found the door easily enough and could feel his blood pressure rising, even in dog form. Half a dozen locks were on the outside of the door, obviously meant to keep something inside the room rather than out. There was also a cat flap at the bottom of the door, and Sirius growled at it, starting to get a disturbing picture of what was going on in the house. Remus was at his side in seconds, eyes narrowed on the various locks. He gave the door three concise knocks. Sirius pawed at it a few times for good measure.

"Harry? It's me, Remus. I brought Snuffles, we got your letter," Remus called through the door.

There was a bit of shuffling from the other side of the door, followed by the creak of footsteps. The knob rattled as the lock was undone, and then the door swung open with a quiet "Remus?"

Sirius almost fell over in shock. A part of him, no matter what the letter said, was still expecting green eyes, and messy black hair- the living, breathing legacy of Lily and James Potter. Instead he was starring at… a Black. He had all of the classic Black features; high cheekbones, grey eyes, fair skin, and hair as dark as the magic his family is famous for. There were a few other defining traits as well; heavy lidded eyes and wild curls that reminded him distinctly of…

Remus was looking from Harry and Sirius and back again in shock. He pointed his wand at Harry hesitantly, still looking shaken.

"Who taught you the Patronus Charm in your third year?" he questioned, voice a little hoarse.

"Er, you did, Professor Lupin," Harry replied, staring at the wand while falling back into the more polite form of address for his former professor. Sirius noted that Harry's voice was different now, deeper and huskier, than Harry's usual crystal clear tones.

"What shape did it take?" Lupin persisted, looking less weary but still overwhelmed.

"A stag," Harry replied more firmly, looking Remus in the eye. The werewolf nodded before grabbing Sirius by the scruff of the neck and dragging him into the poor excuse for a bedroom, snapping the door closed behind him.

"Sirius, change back and _please_ tell me that you didn't secretly have a kid, ask James and Lily to raise it, and then didn't tell me about it," Remus said tersely.

Sirius snapped back into his human form with a small pop, feeling insulted.

"Moony, I would never! If I had a secret kid that I gave to James an Lily to raise I would have told you!" Sirius cried dramatically, trying to highlight the outlandish nature of the accusation.

He turned to Harry who suddenly looked even paler, and Sirius got the distinct impression that Lily and James not being his parents hadn't occurred to him.

"What do you mean? You mean Mum and Dad might not be…" Harry looked a little green at the thought.

"That's not what I'm saying, Harry, I didn't mean to worry you," Remus apologized softly, seeing Harry's distress.

"Then what happened? Why do I look like this?" Harry asked with a lot of curiosity and a little desperation. Now that Sirius was looking at him properly, Harry did look stressed out. There were exhausted dark rings under his new eyes, and a pinched look on his face. His cheeks were hollowed, although Sirius couldn't be sure that wasn't just a feature of his new face.

"I don't know, but we'll figure it out. You're coming with us!" Sirius declared. Remus looked at him reproachfully.

"Sirius, we can't just-"

"Sure we can," Sirius interrupted blithely, inspecting the room as if he didn't have a care in the world. Every piece of furniture was old, scuffed, or broken down. The mattress seemed to have a human shape indented in it, a human much larger than Harry, and the doors on the wardrobe in the corner were crooked and falling off. Sirius knew he didn't have a lot of room to judge because of the state of _his_ house, but he'd seen the living room briefly and he knew the muggles could have furnished this room better and chose not to. Sirius found it extremely irritating that his godson was subjected to this.

"We have to figure out what's going on with Harry, Moony. We can't just leave him here like this to hide from his… relatives," Sirius explained, just barely avoiding a sneer on the word 'relatives.'

"But what about-"

"Don't care."

"But Sirius-"

"Don't care."

"Be reasonable," Remus implored.

"I am," Sirius snapped back, finally losing patience. "We were going to come get him on his birthday anyway, that's only five days away. I'm just moving the time frame up in light of recent events. We can't help Harry here, Remus, You-Know-Where has the library and if we can't find anything there, we'll ask Dumbledore."

"Where are we going?" Harry interjected, looking a little better now that they were getting proactive.

"I can't tell you, but I'll show you as soon as you gather your stuff. Get all of it, you're not coming back this summer," Sirius stated imperiously. Merlin himself wasn't going to budge his decision on this, let alone Albus Dumbledore.

"Um, my trunk is in the cupboard under the stairs," Harry said promptly, as if Sirius would take the offer back if he didn't respond immediately.

"I'll get it," Remus offered, sensing defeat when it was staring him in the face.

Remus left the room while Harry bent down near his bed and removed a loose plank from his floor. Out came his wand, a scrapbook, a cache of old food, James' invisibility cloak, and the Marauder's Map. Sirius stared suspiciously at the food. The picture being painted looked grimmer and grimmer.

While Harry was gathering up a few more odds and ends from around the room, including a book on his nightstand and Hedwig's cage, Sirius took a good look at what he was wearing. The shirt was huge and ragged, practically slipping off him, covered with grass stains, and had a hole on one sleeve. The jeans were also huge, fastened tightly with an old belt, and fraying at the ankles. They were too short for Harry, rising up on his leg a bit, but Harry had just gone through an unnatural growth spurt, so Sirius ignored that tiny defect in a sea of much larger deficiencies. Sirius decided that for his birthday, he was buying Harry a new wardrobe- inability to leave the house and protests be damned. Harry deserved better than this.

Remus appeared at the door with Harry's school trunk and a tense look on his face. Sirius went to ask what was wrong but Remus shook his head slightly and shot him an 'I'll tell you later' look while Harry was chucking his things into the trunk haphazardly. When he was all packed, the trio went to leave. Harry didn't bother to say good-bye to his relatives and neither Sirius nor Remus asked him to.

Sirius returned to his Animagus form, and Remus had Harry slip on his invisibility cloak as another extra precaution. As they were walking out the front door there was rustling in the nearest bushes and Sirius had the feeling he'd be facing the wrath of guard-on-duty Nymphadora Tonks sooner rather than later.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _I know there was a lot of description in this chapter, but it had to be done. I hope everyone likes a proactive Sirius and Remus because they aren't going anywhere! A big theme for this story is family and I want to build as much of a family bond between Harry, Sirius and Remus as I can while keeping it realistic, and a big part of that has to be Remus and Sirius being active in Harry's life, more than just people who Harry can talk to but people that can actually help him. Also, this story isn't going to focus on Harry's abuse overly much like some do, but it has to be addressed, especially by Sirius and eventually Dumbledore. I'll keep it mostly canon, but even the canon stuff is pretty bad if you think about it, so don't be surprised if it comes up again, but don't worry about it taking up too much plot either; it is not the emphasis of this tale by a long shot. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_


	3. A Proper Heir for the House of Black

Harry almost fell flat on his face as the landed in the middle of a deserted street across from a line of old homes. The feel of what Remus called 'apparition' had been the single most unpleasant form of wizard travel yet. Who wanted to feel like they'd been stuffed mercilessly into a straw? Wizards apparently. It took Harry a moment to regain his breath and calm his rebelling stomach while he was bent over with his hands on his knees. Remus and Sirius looked on in amusement. Jerks.

When Harry felt like he wasn't about to expel everything he'd ever eaten, he stood up glaring balefully at the pair. Sirius and Remus flinched at the look, which caused Harry to drop it in confusion; his glare had never been that effective with his other face. Remus recovered quickly and shoved a piece a piece of paper into his hand.

 _The Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix is at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place._

Harry stared at the spidery and familiar script in confusion for a moment until Remus snatched the paper back and tucked it carefully into his trouser pocket. Harry opened his mouth to ask what the Order of the Phoenix was, but snapped it closed in shock as a house pulled itself into existence between Numbers Eleven and Thirteen.

He looked at the pair wide-eyed, but they only chuckled and hurried him toward the grimy front door. A curled snake doorknocker in desperate need of a good polish hung ominously against the wood, which swung open with a creak at their approach. Once they crossed the threshold into a dim and barely lit hallway, and the door swung shut behind them, Sirius spread his arms dramatically.

"Welcome to the ancestral London home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black! The final bastion of my father's paranoia, it's Unplottable, has a vicious concoction of wards against enemies, and is currently under the Fidelius Charm thanks to Albus Dumbledore," Sirius whispered in his most faux-pretentious voice. Harry wondered why he was whispering, but shoved it to the back of his mind as more questions came to the forefront.

"Is this where you've been hiding since coming back to England? And what's the Order of the Phoenix?" Harry questioned, also keeping his voice down to match Sirius.

"Yup," Sirius replied, popping the 'p.' "And the Order, well, I guess you could say it's an anti-Voldemort group. Dumbledore started it in the last war. Remus and I, as well as your parents, were original members. We've been reconvening since Voldemort's back and all. Recruitment hasn't been easy though, especially since Fudge has his head stuck up his arse, and won't admit Old Snake-face is back."

Harry felt like a giant weight had been lifted off his chest. Finally, some answers. It wasn't enough to erase weeks of exclusion and isolation, but it was nice start.

"I'll warn you ahead of time, the Weasley's are here, and Hermione got here last week, so it's going to be hard to keep your knew look under wraps," Sirius threw him an apologetic look, but Harry just scowled in response.

He wasn't so worried about the Weasleys or Hermione seeing his new face, it wasn't like he was horribly disfigured and ashamed, just really confused and stressed. He was more upset to know that his two best friends had been here, together, with _his_ godfather right in the heart of the resistance against Voldemort and he'd been forced to return to Surrey; alone, grieving, and told absolutely nothing. It hurt, a lot, and sometimes he just felt so _angry_ at the injustice of it all.

"Whatever," he murmured, a tad more morosely than he meant to. At least he was here now. His godfather had come to the rescue when he'd needed him, and that meant a lot to Harry. His friends still had much to answer for though.

Harry felt a subtle warmth rush through him as the trio walked down the dank hallway. It was similar to the feeling he got at Hogwarts at the beginning of the year, like the Castle was welcoming him home. Harry wondered why he would feel that here. Maybe because it was a magical building? He decided to just enjoy the feeling, even if it did come from a house with… severed house-elf heads mounted on the wall? Ew.

They approached another door that Remus pushed open. Sound that had previously been completely muffled, probably by a spell, rushed out of the newly open door. Voices bounced back and forth, the clinking noise of utensils on plates, and the mad laughter of Fred and George pervaded the hallway. It was also pierced by an angry shriek as Sirius and Remus preceded Harry into what was apparently the kitchen.

"Sirius Orion Black! Where have you been? You know you aren't supposed to leave the house under any circumstances," Molly Weasley ranted in full maternal mode, as if Sirius was one of her own misbehaving children.

"It's okay, Molly," Remus said in his most calming tone. It had about as much effect on Molly Weasley as it did on Vernon Dursley.

"It is not okay! He needs to stop being reckless and listen to those trying to help him," she cried. Sirius did not seem to appreciate her declaration at all.

"I'm a grown man, Molly, I think I can take care of myself. Besides, it was a bit of an emergency," Sirius replied, stepping to the side to reveal Harry standing behind him. Harry lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave to every eye that was now on him.

Mrs. Weasley was setting a plate of toast on the table, which was occupied by Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins. Harry supposed that Mr. Weasley must have gone to work by now. Harry's reveal seemed to upset Mrs. Weasley even more.

"Sirius! You can't just bring strangers into the house!" she cried. Sirius puffed up in irritation.

"I will bring whoever I damn well please into my own house. I don't need to ask permission from you, or Dumbledore or whoever you think I offended. Anyway, this isn't a stranger, it's-"

"Master Romulus!"

A croaked cry seemed to echo around the kitchen, cutting Sirius off. Harry was nearly knocked off his feet as his arms were suddenly full of the oldest, most-decrepit house-elf he'd ever laid eyes on. The shriveled house-elf, clothed in nothing but a dirty loin clothe, with a protruding snout, bloodshot eyes, and bat like ears with white hair poking out was full on sobbing into Harry's shirt while he hugged him around the legs with surprising strength.

"Master Romulus is here! Mistress asked Kreacher to find Master Romulus but Kreacher couldn't, but Young Master is here now!" he cried.

"Romulus?" Harry questioned, looking up at Sirius in confusion. Sirius suddenly paled, looking at Harry with appraisal and growing horror.

"Sirius, what does he mean?" Harry questioned, now deeply worried based on Sirius' face.

"Kreacher," Sirius called, voice strained, "is he on the Tapestry?"

"Of course Master Romulus be's on Tapestry. Master Romulus is a Black," Kreacher croaked out, hugging Harry even tighter.

Sirius seemed to come to a decision all of the sudden as he grasped Harry by the upper arm, gently but firm enough to get his intention that Harry should follow him to come across.

"Come on, Moony. We have to check," Sirius said resolutely, tugging Harry toward the staircase with Remus following, looking a bit overwhelmed, and Kreacher trailing further behind, still sobbing in joy.

"Wait, Sirius, what's going on? Sirius!" Mrs. Weasley called, but didn't follow.

Sirius tugged Harry to another door on the second floor and took out his wand, which he started to wave in an intricate pattern while muttering to himself.

"Sirius, where are we going? What's happening? Why'd that house-elf call me Romulus? And what did he mean saying I'm a Black?" Harry questioned, his mind spinning until he felt dizzy. What was going on? Was this about his appearance? Remus said something about being Sirius' secret kid, what if…?

The door popped open with an ominous creak. Sirius entered cautiously as if he wasn't quite sure what he'd actually find in the room, and still not answering any of Harry's questions. Candles and oil lamps flared to life around the room, most notably in an iron chandelier in desperate need of a good dusting overhead. The room was filled with dusty old furniture, curio cabinets filled with questionable and dangerous objects, and curtains that looked like something had tried to eat through them. The air was thick with dust, and Harry was choking in seconds. Remus waved his wand while coughing a fair bit himself, and a breeze seemed to whip through the room, cleaning the air.

Sirius was across the room, scanning the far wall with utmost concentration. The wall was dominated by a huge family tree. At the top, in intricate golden thread, were the words: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black 'Toujours pur.' The thing seemed to date back all the way to the Middle Ages, had burns in some places and holes very similar to those on the curtains. Sirius was staring at the bottom most part of the monster tapestry, his finger flowing along branches as he looked for one name in particular. It froze and Harry watched as Sirius' entire frame seemed to tense. Harry couldn't see his face as he was standing behind him.

"Oh, Merlin," he breathed, finger still frozen on one particular name.

"Sirius?" Harry questioned, really frightened, now.

Sirius turned back to him, face blank. He motioned to a few armchairs with his wand and they cleaned up instantly into something touchable.

"Sit down, Harry," he stated quietly. Remus looked just about as nervous as Harry felt, and Kreacher seemed to have stayed out in the hall. Harry sat down slowly, feeling very anxious, as Sirius and Remus joined him. He rubbed his hands together in his anxiety. Sirius still looked blank.

"That is a self updating family tree," Sirius started, voice filled with tension. "It automatically records every child born with Black blood and their parents. I haven't been in here since I got back, so I didn't know… but even if I did, who'd have thought… why didn't James _say_ anything…" Sirius seemed to be talking to himself more then them.

"Sirius," Remus prodded gently. Sirius took in a big gulp of air, and finally made eye contact with Harry.

"It can't be Confunded, it's never been wrong. According to the Tapestry, there was a Romulus born fifteen years ago, on July first, and he's the Heir to the Blacks. Harry, I had the paperwork done to name you my Heir as soon as I got back to England…" Sirius trailed off, letting Harry put it together in his head.

If he was Sirius' Heir, and Romulus was Sirius' Heir than that means Harry must be…

"I'm Romulus?" he choked out. Oh, god. This was worse than anything he let himself imagine. He wasn't a Potter at all, had never been a Potter.

"But then why did I look like…" Harry couldn't finish his sentence.

"Lily was a genius with Charms, I'd bet anything there was some type of Glamour on you. It must have been a true piece of art to have lasted so long- truly one of a kind," Remus interjected looking equal parts shocked and thoughtful.

"There's a few ways to do it with the Dark Arts," Sirius added distractedly, "but they require hooks into the life force that the castor needs extensive study into the Dark Arts to do, James was a Light wizard and Lily was a Light witch, I doubt they could have done it this effectively."

Harry made a mental note to ask Sirius what he meant by 'Light wizard' later, but he had many more important questions and not enough brainpower to contemplate anything else.

"But then, who're my parents? And how did I end up with… the Potters?" Harry questioned, stumbling over how to address James and Lily because they weren't exactly Mum and Dad anymore, right? Sirius' head snapped up and a little life seemed to filter back into his expression.

"Say Mum and Dad, Harry, not 'the Potters.' I don't know how you came to live with them, but I do know they loved you with everything in their hearts. You are their son; they are your parents even if you were born to someone else."

Harry nodded once, feeling overwhelmed and a little relieved. He'd admired them for so long, horded all the information he could about them, stared at his photo album for hours. He didn't want to lose the meaning in all of that.

"Sirius, you're avoiding the other part of the question," Remus stated, clever as always. "Who are his birth parents?"

"Look at him Remus, you know who, he looks just like her," Sirius stated, looking very tired all of the sudden. "I thought about it briefly when we first went to get him this morning but it seemed so outlandish…"

"Merlin," Remus whispered, as if all the pieces were falling into place. Harry felt irritation pierce through the haze of his shock. Why couldn't they just come out and say it? He was sitting right in front of them; they didn't need to talk over his head like this.

"Who?" Harry questioned in a tone that betrayed his growing annoyance. Sirius swallowed and looked Harry in the eye once more.

"Harry, your parents are Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange," he stated, spitting it out with all the enthusiasm of someone ripping off a band-aid.

Harry sat there for a moment, uncomprehending. So, his last name must be Lestrange then, and his mother must be the Black. His birth name was Romulus Lestrange…

But then Harry felt the memory click into place, and he could feel his eyes blow wide with dread and horror. Oh god, he knew those names, had seen those people in Dumbledore's Pensieve this past year. He could picture clearly a beautiful woman with wild black curls and heavy-lidded grey eyes next to Barty Crouch Jr. and a pair of muscular dark-haired brothers.

The woman, who he now resembled quite a bit, had been declaring her ever lasting devotion to the Dark Lord Voldemort, claiming he would return, ranting their loyalty for the whole Wizengamot to hear while sitting in a chain covered chair like it was a throne. They had been on trial for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom- Neville's _parents_. Oh god, he was the son of the people who'd tortured Neville's parents into insanity. He was the son of _Death Eaters_. _Oh god, oh god, oh god…_

"Harry? Harry? Harry!" Remus called, getting louder and jostling Harry out of his internal spiral into the sweet embrace of madness.

"I take it you've heard of them," Sirius asked drily, looking worried. He should be, Harry was freaking out!

"I saw their trial," he croaked, "in Dumbledore's Pensieve this year. They- they tortured Neville's parents into insanity; they're _Death Eaters_." Harry felt totally gobsmacked. Sirius sent him a pitying look.

"That happens a lot in our family, best to get used to it," Sirius joked weakly. Harry found nothing funny in it.

"Can I be alone?" he asked suddenly, feeling absolutely stifled in this room with Sirius and Remus sending him worried looks and the Black Family Tapestry looming over them all with it's damning proclamations of family.

"Sure, Harry, I think there's an extra bed in the room Ron is staying in, why don't you go lay down for a bit. His room is down the hall, fourth door on the left," Remus said, voice full of compassion that Harry wasn't ready to confront at the moment. Harry nodded robotically and made to leave, but hesitated at the door.

"Please, don't tell them yet," Harry asked without turning back to look at the pair still sitting in the drawing room while gesturing vaguely down in reference to the other occupants of the house. "They'll want to talk and ask questions I can't answer and I just- I need a moment."

"Of course, Harry, whatever you want. Come find us if you need anything," Remus offered. Harry nodded once before leaving the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Harry turned to walk down the hallway to the room Remus had mentioned, but was stopped by the leathery hand of the house-elf that had assaulted him earlier, Kreacher?

"Young Master be coming with Kreacher. Kreacher be preparing room for Young Master, better than sharing with the blood traitor," Kreacher was tugging Harry along, and Harry was too mentally drained to protest, even to the blood traitor comment.

All he could think of was the trial and the madly cackling visage of Bellatrix Lestrange the woman who had given _birth_ to him, had carried him for nine months, and given him life. He tried to remember more about the two brothers. Which one had been Rodolphus, his father? They had looked very similar, not identical, or like twins, but they had shared a lot of features. One had been taller and broader with longer hair that brushed his shoulders. Was that his father? Or the shorter one, who's dark eyes had been a bit bigger, and his hair cropped close to the scalp? Did it matter? They were all spending life sentences in Azkaban anyway, it's not like he'll ever meet his parents. It was like being orphaned all over again, only worse because they were still alive and incarcerated for literally unforgiveable crimes

Kreacher hauled Harry up to the topmost floor of the house, finally stopping when they reached a door with a small sign that read: Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black. The door slid open silently, and Kreacher led the way with a contemplative look on his leathery face. He nodded once decisively before snapping his fingers, and years of undisturbed dust vanished in an instant. Clean sheets flew through the door and the bed remade itself quickly. Harry was too tired and upset to really take in much of the room.

It was bedecked in green and silver, but Harry had been coming to expect that kind of décor in this house since the snake doorknocker. There was a painstakingly painted version of the Black Family Crest on the wall above the bed, along with the family motto that Harry had seen on the Black Family Tapestry: Toujours pur. There was a collage not to far from the crest that Harry told himself he'd inspect later. Harry thanked Kreacher, who seemed absolutely delighted by the praise and said he was going to go fetch 'Young Master's trunk.'

Harry collapsed onto the green comforter, kicking off his ripped up trainers without enthusiasm. He curled up on his side, trying to banish a madly cackling Bellatrix from his mind along with the stoic Lestrange brothers. A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, but he was just too tired after two days of not eating, panic, weird dreams, nightmares, and a gigantic shock to his system to cry, or do much of anything really. He was asleep before Kreacher returned with his trunk.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kreacher could not believe his luck as he brought Master Romulus' trunk up to Master Regulus' room. The room had been left untouched until now out of respect for Regulus, but Kreacher was sure that a greater show of respect would be putting the new Heir in there, a proper Heir. Blood Traitor Master had done nothing but bring pain to the family as the Heir, but Kreacher knew that Miss Bella's son would never be so disrespectful and ungrateful.

Still, Blood Traitor Master had named Master Romulus the Heir, had found the Young Master when all other Blacks had failed and brought him to one of his rightful homes, so he might have some family pride left in him somewhere. Kreacher decided to stop sabotaging his tea as a sign of good faith. He wasn't going to cook for him, though, without an express order. Not until he got rid of the other blood traitors and the Mudblood filth that was soiling the house.

Kreacher opened Young Master's trunk in order to wash his clothes, and was appalled at what he found. Oh no, Young Master must have been somewhere horrid indeed if all he had were a few uniforms that certainly wouldn't fit him and muggle rags! Kreacher should have found him sooner, than he could have saved Young Master from the disgrace, he could have brought him to Mistress before she died, or Miss Narcissa afterwards. Kreacher punished himself quickly and efficiently, boiling water and then sticking his hands into it and holding them there.

Once his punishment was complete, Kreacher began to rectify the situation. He pulled the school uniforms out and set them aside to be washed properly, along with a few hand knitted sweaters that were in good condition, a traveling cloak, some tasteful dress robes in green, an invisibility cloak (which Kreacher hung up immediately), and a Quidditch uniform. Kreacher found a few Gryffindor ties and scowled before reluctantly setting them aside with the uniforms. Well, no one was perfect.

The rest of the clothing, ugly and muggle as it was, Kreacher put in it's own pile. He spotted the Young Master on the bed, curled up on top of the comforter and found his appearance unacceptable. With a snap of his fingers, Young Master's rags were gone. Kreacher found a pair of silk pajamas in one of Master Regulus' drawers, and put them on Young Master with another snap. Master Regulus had been more muscular than Master Romulus, who was unacceptably skinny, but the fit was close enough for now.

Kreacher helped Master Romulus under the covers, and when Young Master started to twist and turn in a nightmare, Kreacher soothed him with elf-magic, sending him further into sleep. A raging hippogriff could have run through the room and Young Master wouldn't have awoken. Kreacher nodded to himself in satisfaction.

With Young Master properly asleep, Kreacher apparated to the back garden, and proceeded to burn the muggle rags gleefully. It wasn't often his work included the wonton destruction of property, and he was going to enjoy it. He saw the white owl in a nearby tree; the one that had pecked at Blood Traitor Master named Hedwig and gave her a small grin. The owl hooted once approvingly, and Kreacher continued burning the rags with her blessing.

Once the insult to Young Master was handled; Kreacher popped back to his room, and gathered the limited acceptable laundry. He went to wash it thoroughly, even though he knew most of it probably wouldn't fit the Young Master at this point. Recent growth spurt? Most likely, teenage wizards seem to grow like weeds.

Kreacher went to hang the newly clean clothes in the wardrobe. Once finished, he found some appropriate attire for the Young Master to wear once he woke up. He hung his selection on the back of the desk chair and moved it near the bed for convenience. Kreacher took a moment to admire Young Master's sleeping face. He was a proper Black in looks and would surely bring honor to his House and legacy. Kreacher apparated away with a small pop to make Blood Traitor Master a cup of suitable tea for the first time since his return. Things were looking up for the House of Black.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sirius and Remus sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes, not quite looking at each other, but not avoiding the other either.

"That could have gone better," Sirius murmured eventually, feeling drained.

"It also could have gone a lot worse," Remus said decisively, "Harry can have a bit of a temper sometimes, you saw how angry some of his later letters got before he stopped writing us. I always thought he got his temper from Lily, but now…" Remus trailed off, looking a little lost.

"Sirius, are sure? This could be some elaborate plan by Voldemort or the Death Eaters. Maybe they are trying to get the Order to mistrust Harry or something," Remus speculated, almost sounding hopeful of being locked into a plot from the other side. Sirius shook his head.

"I'm sure. The Tapestry is ancient magic, as old as the family. It couldn't be Confunded even if someone wanted to make it change. Not to mention Kreacher could spot a Black from a kilometer off," Sirius said humorlessly.

"You've got to admit," he continued, "it makes a lot of sense. We never saw Lily pregnant and James never told us. It was just bam! Baby. He said it was to keep Lily safe, but I always found it strange that he would keep Lily's pregnancy a closely guarded secret but then trust me and Peter to be their Secret Keepers. It's a pretty inconsistent show of trust, don't you think?"

Remus nodded agreeably. He'd had similar thoughts at the time, but it had been so long ago, he'd forgotten the suspicion. It was also eclipsed by the hurt he'd felt when he learned that he was the suspected leak in the Order. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but then again, who would have expected Peter either?

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he replied, still thinking. "What are we going to tell the crowd downstairs about our mystery guest?"

"The truth. That his name's Romulus, and he's family, and that's all they need to know," Sirius responded resolutely. Harry had asked this of him, so he'd comply. A little mystery wouldn't kill anyone for a few hours.

The pair ambled down the stairs, bracing themselves for an eruption of Mount Molly as soon as they entered the kitchen. They were not disappointed.

"Sirius Black, who was that boy and what is he doing here?" she questioned as if their previous argument hadn't ended abruptly with Sirius' departure to the drawing room.

"Romulus. He's family. Don't worry about him, he's lying down for a bit, had a long night," Sirius replied blithely, snatching a leftover piece of toast off the table before Ron could get his hands on it. That boy was a bottomless pit.

"Family? What do you mean family? Sirius, please don't tell me that young man is some newly discovered son of yours," Molly asked, looking distraught at the possibility. Around the table there was shocked silence, the twins and Ginny were wide eyed, Hermione had a hand to her mouth in shock, and Ron's mouth was gaping open, showing the entire table his partially chewed breakfast.

"No, he's not my secret son! Why does everyone keep saying that?" he cried. It got a little hurtful after awhile.

"Well then who is he, and why is he here?" Molly replied, looking a little sheepish for her presumption. Good.

"I told you, he's family. Just leave it for now, it'll make more sense in a bit," he replied, aiming for Remus' calm 'professor voice,' even if Molly was impervious to it.

Before Molly could rally and further her cross-examination, the kitchen door swung open revealing Nymphadora Tonks, hair red and faced pinched.

"You better have a really good explanation for-"

"And I do," Sirius interjected quickly before she could reveal anything that'll help Molly along in her deductions. "Come on, Nymph, let's talk," he said, dragging her from the kitchen despite her protests.

"Sirius, let me go, you mangy mutt!" she shouted as he chucked her unceremoniously into the first floor sitting room, bringing the wards down behind him. Remus had stayed in the kitchen to further field Mrs. Weasley's temper and questions. Good man, Remus, it'll be sad when Molly rips the werewolf to tiny emotional pieces for his silence on something she wants to know a lot about. Then again, Sirius was pretty sure he was about to be ripped in to tiny physical pieces by his cousin, so he didn't have a lot of sympathy to spare.

"Look, I can explain," Sirius started.

"You bloody well better, Sirius! It's my arse on the line for letting you walk if you did something stupid and Harry, I don't know, explodes or something!" she cried, just as over dramatic as him. Some things just ran in families. Sirius found that thought very sobering knowing what he knew about Harry now, and he barely held back a grimace.

"Harry needed me, it was an emergency," Sirius started, and then realized that probably wasn't the best place to start when Nymph's eyes grew wide.

"What emergency? If there's an emergency we should call someone who can handle it!" she continued.

"We did! I did handle it. Harry's upstairs sleeping, he's fine, it's just… look I can't tell you yet but I promise he's fine, and he hasn't exploded and you'll probably know in a few hours. A little bit of patience is all I'm asking for," Sirius tried.

Nymph still looked mutinous, though, so Sirius gave her the puppy dog eyes. When that didn't seem to work, he popped into his Grimm form and gave her advanced puppy dog eyes and watched her resolve shatter like glass.

"Ah, don't look at me like that Sirius. Fine. I'll keep my mouth shut for now. You promise he's here and safe?" she conceded, grudgingly. Sirius popped back into his human form instantly, a big grin on his face.

"Thanks, Nymph!" he practically tackled her in a bear hug. "I promise he's upstairs, he's sleeping, and still totally in one piece," Sirius swore.

"I should probably head back then before Hestia comes to relieve me. He hasn't been out in a few days so it shouldn't be too strange if she doesn't see him at all. She'll just assume he's still in his room," Nymph said from the cage of Sirius' arms.

Sirius set her back down with exaggerated care, to which she rolled her eyes.

"Thanks again, Nymph!" Sirius called as she made to leave. She paused in the doorway, and looked over at her cousin.

"Oh, that reminds me," she said. Her wand was out and a Stinging Hex was impacting with Sirius' butt before he could even think about raising his wand in defense. He let out a particularly canine yelp.

"My _name_ is Tonks," she finished. She went to sashay out the door, and it might have been impressive if she hadn't tripped over the doorjamb on the way out. Sirius laughed hard at her huffy second exit until Kreacher appeared at his elbow, holding out a cup of tea for Sirius.

"Kreacher has made tea for Blood Traitor Master," he croaked while Sirius stared. Maybe Kreacher had finally found a way around his servitude to poison Sirius after all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione Granger was worried about Harry. It wasn't an uncommon state for her; she worries about him often. She'd worried about him when he'd gone to face Professor Quirrell alone to stop him from getting the Philosopher's Stone. She'd worried about him when she'd woken up from being petrified, only to discover he and Ron had gone into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Ginny. She'd worried about him when Sirius was supposedly after him and the Demontors were harassing him. She'd worried the most for him this past year though. Between dragons, mermaids, and a killer maze she'd almost worked herself into a few nervous fits.

Right now, however, Hermione was feeling a different kind of worry for Harry. She was worried that Ron and her were going to lose him, that all of Harry's friends were going to lose him.

This was a relatively new fear, developed over the last few weeks in which Harry had stopped writing to them all completely. His very last letter had been so angry and bitter and then he'd said nothing more. No replies, no forgiveness for her numerous apologies, nothing.

 _I feel like you're all lying to me… I watched him die… don't understand… alone… don't insult me, Hermione, I know you're keeping things from me, you aren't fooling anyone…_

She'd broken down in tears a few times, wondering if she had driven away one of her very first true friends. There had been several people she'd spent time with in primary, but she knew most of them had been using her for her smarts and didn't really enjoy her company like friends were supposed to. Harry, though, had been a true friend since the troll incident. Sure, he asked for homework help sometimes, but he also read quietly in the Common Room with her, and played Exploding Snap with her, and the muggle card games Ron and Ginny never got the hang of. She didn't know what she'd do if all of that just went away.

Of course, he wasn't the same boy from first year anymore. Stress, anxiety, and grief had changed him. He was less patient, had a shorter fuse, and Hermione suspected he struggled with normal things like eating and sleeping sometimes. What was once a shy, smiling eleven-year-old, had grown into a weary and cross almost fifteen-year-old.

But what could she really expect? He had nearly died at school every year since joining the Wizarding World, was harassed by the media, and often their own classmates would turn against him. He had watched Cedric Diggory die, had been kidnapped by a murderous psychopath and forced to participate in his rebirthing ritual, and then shipped off to the Muggle World while all of his friends had a gag order on what they could tell him. She knew she would be frustrated in his place. She was already practicing begging for his forgiveness when he arrived later that week. And didn't that just highlight what Harry was so frustrated about? That she knew when he was coming to Grimmauld Place and Harry probably hadn't been told yet he was coming at all, let alone when or where?

Now, she was sure there was another thing Harry would be upset about when he arrived. Sirius and Remus had gone out to pick up a stranger and bring him to Headquarters, despite everyone's insistence that Sirius stay home. She could already imagine Harry's reaction to Sirius breaking rules to bring _Romulus_ to Headquarters, but he wouldn't even bend them to send Harry a more informative letter as far as she knew. Hermione could already see the shadows dancing in Harry's eyes, the ones that appeared every time something fundamentally _unfair_ happens to him, which was becoming more and more often it seemed.

"So, let's go find this new bloke," Fred's voice broke through Hermione's dismal contemplations. The twins, Ron, Ginny and herself were the only ones remaining in the kitchen. Sirius was off talking with Tonks, and Remus had lead Mrs. Weasley off to calm her down.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Sirius said he was lying down, we should leave him alone for a bit," she responded immediately.

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione," clucked George, throwing a casual arm over her shoulder. "You worry too much."

"Yeah, we're just going to introduce ourselves-"

"Welcome him to the house-"

"Ask a few questions-"

"And then he can lay down."

The twins spoke back and forth with their most innocent expressions plastered across their freckled faces. Hermione wasn't buying it. She shoved George's arm off.

"Or you can leave him be and introduce yourselves later. He might already be asleep," Hermione insisted, her compulsive need to uphold common courtesy overpowering the tiny voice in the back of her head that was insisting she let the twins bother the new guy because she was sure that Harry wasn't resting comfortably at the Dursley's.

She wasn't sure why, but a lot of her righteous indignation on Harry's behalf wanted to lash out at the new boy: Romulus. It was probably because of Sirius, going out for Romulus but not Harry who had all but begged to leave. _He's family…_ If Sirius would break rules for family, than that should include his own godson who practically worshipped the ground he walked on. Or at least he did. Hermione had a feeling that Harry's last letter to Sirius had been as unforgiving as her own.

"Well, I'm in. I really want to know who this Romulus is. Do you think he might actually be Sirius' secret son?" Ginny questioned, standing up to walk over to the twins as if they were on different teams and she had chosen the other one.

"They do look pretty similar," Ron interjected, voice filled with conspiracy. Hermione whacked him on the arm- her reprimand coming through clearly.

"That doesn't mean he's Sirius' son. He could be a cousin or even a nephew. Does Sirius have any siblings?" she questioned. The others shrugged, having no idea.

"If he does, he hasn't mentioned it," Ginny said helplessly.

"I still think he might be Sirius' kid. I mean, why else would Sirius be so secretive about him?" Ron wondered, idly grabbing for one of the leftover pieces of bacon.

"He did say there was an emergency. Maybe it has something to do with the war," Hermione mentioned, but she knew she was delving into baseless speculation at this point.

"What does he have to do with the war? He's just a teenager, he looked about as old as us," Ron snorted derisively. Hermione couldn't help but puff up at his tone and defend her theory.

"If he's Sirius' family, than that means he's a Black, and most of the Blacks sided with You-Know-Who in the last war according to Remus. Maybe the Death Eaters were trying to recruit him, so Sirius stepped in," Hermione said using her best 'isn't-it-obvious' voice even though it wasn't and she was just pulling theories out of thin air and knew it.

"Well, there's only one way to know for sure," Fred chimed in.

"Yeah, let's go find him," continued George.

With that the twins stood up and sauntered out of the kitchen, Ginny right behind them. Hermione and Ron sat staring at each other for a moment. Ron was finishing his bacon and sending Hermione pleading looks to join the others, and Hermione was fighting an internal war between her courtesy and her curiosity. She sighed aloud as curiosity won.

"Alright, let's go."

Ron grinned at her as they made their way out of the kitchen. Hermione felt her lips turn up in the corner. Now if only Harry were here, they could treat this like one of their old adventures; like saving Norbert or brewing Polyjuice Potion, only without the risk of detention. Then again, they were risking Sirius' wrath for sticking their noses where they didn't belong- the wrath of a man who'd broken out of an impenetrable fortress for murderous vengeance against a traitor. Then again, they risked Professor Snape's wrath all the time- the wrath of a man looking for murderous vengeance because someone was breathing too loudly. It's not so different.

They started their search immediately on the second floor, where the guestrooms the Weasley's had been using were. They would knock hastily on any given door and pop in and out quickly if there was no response. Hermione watched for a humorous moment as Fred and George tugged ruthlessly at one of the still warded doors. They seemed to have forgotten they had come-of-age, because they didn't even try to magic the door open. Or they were afraid of messing with the Black Family Wards. Hermione found this to be a very legitimate fear to have.

A new door that Hermione was almost positive had been warded yesterday came popping open. It was filled with old furniture, cabinets, and there was some sort of complicated Tapestry on the back wall but there was no Romulus. Hermione made a small promise to herself to come back and inspect that Tapestry more thoroughly before following the others up to the third floor.

They ascended floors, finding a lot of locked doors and no signs of habitation by a recently arrived teenager. Hermione was feeling guiltier and guiltier, knowing they shouldn't be looking for someone who so obviously didn't want to be found. They made it to the top floor, where they new the Master suite was, as well as Sirius' bedroom. There was one final room they hadn't checked. A sign stating ': Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black' hung boldly on the door. Fred and George being, well, Fred and George, took that as a challenge instead of a warning, and flung the door open without bothering to knock.

They meandered in, but froze a few steps in, making Ginny run into Fred's back.

"Oi! Why'd you stop?" she cried, indignantly.

"We found him," Fred and George said together, softer than they had spoken before.

Hermione craned her neck around the twins, and could just make out an unmoving form under a Slytherin green duvet.

"Blimey," Ron said, looking around the room with surprise and a bit of distaste, "this room is more Slytherin then their own Common Room."

It took Hermione a moment to remember that Ron had actually been in the Slytherin Common Room with Harry in their second year. A part of Hermione figured he must be right, even though she'd never seen the Slytherin Common Room, because the bedroom was draped in green and silver, the furniture was littered with subtle snake carvings, and a foreboding Black Family Crest stared down from the wall, judging them all for their inferiority and impurity. 'Toujours pur' indeed.

"What were you doing in the Slytherin Common Room, Ronnikins?" asked George, voice full of teasing accusation.

"Er, it's a long story. I'll tell you later," Ron deflected, obviously not wanting to get into it at the moment.

"Why isn't he waking up?" questioned Ginny while peering around Fred to look at Romulus. "We haven't exactly been quiet. Do you think he's okay?

"Wake up, mate, we got a few questions," Fred cajoled, going over and shaking Romulus on the shoulder in a manner that would have been friendly had they known each other, but was awkward as they were strangers. Hermione would bet good Galleons that that was the whole reason he did it. The twins lived to make other people uncomfortable.

"Er, he's still not waking up," George said, sounding a little worried. Hermione tensed, walking further into the room anxiously. She joined the twins by the bed. His chest was rising rhythmically, so at least he was alive, thank god. She bent down a little bit to get a better look at his face, when her hair got caught on a rolled, yellowed edge of parchment sticking out from a collage under the family crest. Hermione examined it reflexively as she rescued her hair, and then froze in horror.

Newspaper clippings stared back at her, pictures of the Dark Mark with terrible destruction beneath assaulting her eyes. Headlines with various monikers such as 'You-Know-Who' and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' dominated the papers. Hermione stumbled back.

"Good Lord," she whispered, eyes still stuck on the collage, which was disturbing in it's worshipfulness, it's veneration of one of the Darkest beings to walk the earth. The others must have caught sight of it, because there were two exclamations of 'Blimey!' one sharply inhaled breath, and one rather creative curse Hermione had never heard before.

A sudden crack disturbed the horrified teens who whirled around to the doorway to see an absolutely lived house-elf glaring balefully at them all.

"You is not to be in here," he croaked angrily. "You is leaving Young Master alone!"

Before Hermione or any of the Weasley's could move an inch, Kreacher took an all mighty breath and started shouting as loud as he could.

"BLOOD TRAITOR MASTER! BLOOD TRAITOR MASTER! THE FILTH BES ATTACKING MASTER ROMULUS! THEY IS BEING IN MASTER REGULUS' ROOM!"

The gravelly shriek echoed through the halls setting off Mrs. Black's portrait into an angry tirade on Mudbloods besmirching her home. Panicked footsteps thundered up the stairs, and Sirius burst into the room only to stop short seeing them all guiltily surrounding Romulus' bed. He raised a single arched eyebrow. Hermione cringed. Romulus kept on sleeping.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _There you have it. Harry discovers the truth… and then promptly takes a nap with a little help from Kreacher. I know Molly seems a bit annoying in this chapter, but that's mostly because it's in Sirius' point of view and they aren't very friendly at this point in OOTP. I promise though that this is not a bashing fic and Mrs. Weasley will have her time to shine! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_


	4. Remus Lupin: Children's Therapist

Sirius didn't say a word. He wasn't exactly sure what the proper response was in this situation anyway. Did he yell at them for invading Harry's privacy? Should he put his hands on his hips and lecture them about respect? Maybe a couple of harmless jinxes would teach them a better lesson? In the end, Sirius adopted what he called his 'unimpressed eyebrows' and silently pointed at the door, bidding them to leave. They shuffled out sheepishly under Kreacher's resentful stare, blushing enough to clash with all of the Weasley-red hair in the room. Hermione squeaked out a quick apology before following the others hastily.

"Sorry about that, Harry, I didn't think they'd hunt you down. But this place is pretty boring, so they were probably just looking for something to do," he mused. He got even breathing in response. Sirius looked over in bewilderment.

"Did you actually sleep through all of that? Damn kid, you must be more exhausted then I thought, and I'll be honest, you looked pretty rough."

Sirius crept closer to examine the prominent bags under Harry's newly grey eyes, when he noticed what he was wearing.

"Now where did you get Regulus' old pajamas? And what are you doing up here in the first place?" Sirius asked, but he wasn't really talking to Harry anymore as his accusing gaze fell on his unruly house-elf who was smoothing down the duvet and muttering about nosy Mudbloods under his breath.

"Kreacher?" He didn't really need to ask.

"Kreacher be's putting proper Heir in proper room with proper clothes, Master. Kreacher also be disposing of nasty muggle rags and helping Young Master sleep," Kreaher croaked out without an ounce of shame in his voice as he continued to putter about.

Sirius would bet every Galleon in his vault that Harry didn't really know whose room this was, didn't put himself in those pajamas, and didn't ask Kreacher to get rid of his clothes. Sirius had a quick internal debate with himself. Did he yell at Kreacher for crossing boundaries or keep silent and encourage the only caring and positive behavior Kreacher has shown anyone since his wretched mother died? He was planning on getting Harry a new wardrobe for his birthday anyway…

At least now he knew why Harry wasn't waking up. When Sirius had been a small child, before Kreacher hated him, Kreacher would sooth him and his brother when they had nightmares by putting them into an elf-magic induced dreamless sleep. It was pretty powerful and made it very hard for anyone except the house-elf to wake the person up until they were physically well rested. Sirius had a feeling he wasn't going to be seeing Harry for a while unless he demanded Kreacher wake him up, and Sirius really didn't have the heart for that at this point. The day had been emotionally draining for him too, and it wasn't even noon yet. Sirius sighed and made a decision.

"Alright, just try not to be too invasive, he's not used to having a house-elf around," Sirius conceded. Kreacher looked absolutely scandalized by the statement.

"Kreacher not being invasive, Kreacher is only serving Young Master," Kreacher rebutted.

Sirius rolled his eyes and made to leave; too tired to argue.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ron Weasley took one look around at the still embarrassed occupants of the sitting room before blurting out the first thing that came to mind, if only to fill up the silence.

"I still say he looks like Sirius' son."

The awkward spell seemed to be broken as Ginny let loose the least ladylike snort imaginable. The twins chuckled as well and Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.

"I'm not so sure, now that I got a second look at him," Ginny mused, leaning more comfortably back in her armchair. "There's something different around here," Ginny gestured to the area around and including her eyes.

"That could be from his mum though. He's not gonna be an _exact_ copy of Sirius, now is he?" Ron argued.

"Eh, maybe. I'm still changing my guess though. I think he's more like a nephew," Ginny stated, as if they were in a competition to see who could divine Romulus' relation to Sirius. The twins grinned mischievously.

"Why don't we make it a bet?" Fred offered.

"Yeah. Whoever guesses Romulus' relationship to Sirius doesn't have to clean any of the bathrooms for the rest of the summer. One of the losers of the bet has to do it whenever it's the winner's turn," George stipulated.

Ginny and Ron shared a look, competition glimmering in their eyes.

"Deal!" they called in unison. George dove to a side table and picked up a piece of parchment and quill.

"So I'll put Ginny down for nephew and Ron down for secret son, yeah?" George asked, quill scribbling furiously. Ron nodded decisively. Sirius had looked pretty protective with his silent finger pointing. It was best to follow his first instinct.

"What do you think, Gred?"

"Hmmmm, put me down for recently de-aged uncle."

"Right. And I'll go down for secret half-brother. How about you Hermione? Any guesses?" George asked.

Ron looked at her hopefully, trying to include her. He hadn't really realized it until he and Harry had their fight this past year- and didn't that make him feel as guilty as hell considering how the thrice damned Tournament ended- but Hermione was more of Harry's friend than his. Ever since the Yule Ball, he's been putting a lot of thought into how to change that. And maybe nursing a crush for the bookworm too, but he wouldn't admit to that under pain of death.

Hermione sighed, like she was weighing taking the moral high ground away from gambling against the opportunity to not clean toilets for the rest of summer, and the toilets won.

"Put me down for… cousin, I think."

George blinked as if someone had just Confunded him before a huge grin split his face.

"Cousin it is. Oi, Fred, I think we corrupted her."

"I'm so proud! Our little Hermione is all grown up and gambling about other people's private lives," Fred cried, wiping away an imaginary tear.

Hermione flushed guiltily but didn't take back her bet. Ron grinned. Now if only Harry was here to tease her about her lapse in judgment, everything would be as perfect as it could be in a world where Dark Lords rise from the dead and force you to hide in near-condemned town houses.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry woke up gradually for the first time in what felt like a long time. The comfortable weight of a comforter settled on him, while silk sheets seemed to caress his skin. He wondered when the Hogwarts four-poster beds decided to start using silk, the last he remembered the beds were covered in very soft cotton. But it was summer wasn't it? He shouldn't be at Hogwarts. Strange…

It took Harry's sleep addled mind a few moments to clear, and when it did his eyes snapped open. He was at Sirius' family home-Grimmauld Place- and he… wasn't Harry Potter. Romulus Lestrange. What a proper wizarding name. He could just imagine the looks he would have gotten in muggle primary school if he'd introduced himself as Romulus. The other students had already thought he was weird with his giant clothes, mysterious accidents, and Dudley's ire.

Harry vaguely remembered Ron making fun of Malfoy's name on their first meeting. Draco was another proper wizarding name, distinctive enough to mock even by a Pureblood family like the Weasleys. But then again, the Weasleys ran in different circles than the Malfoys, the Blacks, or apparently the Lestranges.

Maybe there was another cultural divide he wasn't thinking of or wasn't even aware of. Some families had names like Bill and Fred, and others had names like Rodolphus and Lucius. What was the distinction? The more interesting names tended to be Death Eaters… but that wasn't right. Sirius and Remus weren't exactly normal names and they didn't follow Voldemort. Peter was pretty normal and he did. Hell, Voldemort had a distinctly muggle name: Tom Riddle. But he had hated it and had been pretty determined to change it.

Harry flopped back on the bed trying to stem a burgeoning headache. He'd contemplate the complicated nature of wizarding names later, after he figured out how the bloody hell he ended up in someone else's clothes. Harry examined the black silk pajamas uncomfortably, having no memory of putting them on. He'd been pretty tired, but he doubted someone could have manhandled him in and out of his clothes without waking him up. Magic then? Harry decided to ask about it later. Or maybe not, it was kind of an awkward question to ask. _Hey, Sirius, did you take clothes off my unconscious body and replace them with someone else's?_

Harry pulled himself out of the sinfully comfortable bed and gave a jaw-cracking yawn. He staggered over to the window and took a quick peak into the back garden. Buckbeak was out there, laying down and soaking up the summer sun, which was slanted in such a way that Harry immediately new it was mid-afternoon at least. Harry tried to fight off a small blush of embarrassment. He hadn't meant to sleep so long. Sirius and Remus probably thought he was hiding.

Harry straightened his posture resolutely, throwing his shoulders back, and raising his head. He was not hiding, and he was not afraid to face this. He was a Gryffindor and he would act like one, dammit. Filled to the brim with equal parts courage and false bravado, Harry all but marched to his trunk, which Kreacher had left sitting neatly in the corner of the room, next to the wardrobe. Harry flicked it open deftly, and got a face full of parchment, schoolbooks, quills, but absolutely _no clothing_. Harry shifted his possessions around a bit, but there wasn't even a pair of Vernon's old socks.

Harry went over to the wardrobe and threw the doors open, hoping that Kreacher had hung up his stuff. There were plenty of clothes that didn't belong to him, robes for all occasions it seemed. There were complicated dress robes in gold, casual robes in blue, Quidditch robes in green and all manner of cuts and styles in between. There were even a few Hogwarts uniforms with the Slytherin crest on the breast.

On the far right side of the wardrobe, Harry finally found a few articles he recognized. His Hogwarts uniforms were neatly pressed without a single thread out of place. His invisibility cloak was also hung up, which took a weight off his chest. The rest of his clothes could be thrown into the Black Lake as long as the cloak was safe. His dress robes from the Yule Ball and Quidditch robes were also hung up and looking cleaner than the day he'd gotten them. At the bottom of the wardrobe a few Weasley sweaters were neatly folded and pushed back, like they were good enough to keep in the wardrobe but not good enough to actually take out and wear.

Harry bit his lip, where were his clothes? Would it be less embarrassing to go down in his school uniform or his dress robes? Maybe just the trousers and shirt from the uniform? A loud crack caused Harry to stumble away from the wardrobe and out of his thoughts. The decrepit house-elf was back, looking at Harry with eagerness tinged with just a bit of madness before bowing low.

"Does Master Romulus be needing anything?"

"Uh, yeah. Do you know where my clothes are? I found my uniforms in the wardrobe but everything else seems to be missing," Harry hoped his voice was polite but not overly so. He really didn't feel like being cried on again today, and if Kreacher was anything like Dobby, an excess of consideration might send him on a crying jag. Harry felt a little guilty for purposefully being less kind than he could be, but not guilty enough to volunteer for hysteric sobbing.

"Kreacher has set out clothes for Master Romulus," Kreacher replied, his tone was… sly. As if he was hiding something.

Harry stepped forward to the chair Kreacher had indicated that he had missed when he woke up. Laying across it were black slacks, a light grey silk dress shirt, and a blue outer robe. Underneath the chair sat a pair of polished dragon-hide boots and black socks.

"Er, Kreacher, these clothes aren't mine," Harry said slowly. Maybe the ancient elf was confused.

"They belonged to Master Regulus, but Master Regulus would never allow Kreacher to dress the Heir in filthy muggle rags," Kreacher rasped. Harry sighed.

"Kreacher, where exactly are the clothes that I came here with? The clothes that were in my trunk?" Harry asked again, trying to be as direct as possible.

"Kreacher put them where all filthy muggle clothes should be going," the house-elf said evasively. Harry could practically feel his temper fraying around the edges.

"And where is that exactly?"

"The fire pit, Young Master" Kreacher finally responded, no shame in his voice. In fact, he sounded a little proud. Harry grit his teeth against a loud response. He knew first hand that it did no good to have a house-elf as your enemy.

"Of course," he murmured under his breath before speaking up so Kreacher could hear him. "Kreacher, that was all I had. What am I supposed to wear now?"

In retrospect, that was a dumb question, as emphasized by Kreacher scooting the chair a little closer to him. Harry sighed.

"I meant that more generally. I'll need clothes at Hogwarts other than the uniform."

"Kreacher will set out Master Regulus' clothes until Master Black gets Young Master proper clothes," Kreacher replied, as if that was the obvious plan all along. To Kreacher, it probably was.

"I guess I'll have to talk to Sirius then," he said, finally conceding. How does one argue with a mad house-elf, let alone win?

"Excuse me, Kreacher. I have to change."

"Of course, Master Romulus."

After another low bow, Kreacher apparated away with a sharp crack. Harry turned to further inspect the clothing. It was obviously made of expensive materials, but also seemingly old. It had that stiff quality that all cloth left to sit takes on until brought into regular use again. Harry slipped off the luxurious pajamas and folded them neatly before leaving them on the chair. Aunt Petunia had Harry folding laundry so much over the years that his lines were crisp and efficient. It looked more like a high-end department store employee had folded the pajamas than a teenage boy.

Harry slipped on the slacks and buttoned up the dress shirt, leaving it untucked. The pants were just about the right length but just a bit too wide at the waist. The shirt draped across his torso just enough to know that the fit wasn't perfect but not enough that he looked anything but presentable. Harry wondered if Regulus' clothes were tailored especially for him when they were bought. At this point Harry wouldn't be surprised if they were, a family this rich could afford tailoring and it was a much more common practice in the Wizarding World than the Muggle one. The dragon-hide boots were also a bit big, but the socks were thick enough to compensate. Harry pointedly ignored the outer robe. Kreacher may have won the battle but he hadn't won the war.

Harry thought of his hair for a moment. He ran his fingers through it quickly and snagged them on a few tangled curls making him grimace. He was no stranger to messy hair, but there was something distinctly unkempt about the way it felt now. Like it had the potential to behave but he wasn't taking proper care of it. Harry spotted a brush on one of the side tables and tried to work it through his newly robust hair. It took a few minutes of struggling and cursing, but eventually all of hair that was previously tied up would allow a brush to run through it smoothly before springing back into a ringlet.

Harry walked over to an ornate mirror to make sure he didn't look like an idiot. What he saw in the mirror thoroughly shocked him. Before, in Dudley's over sized castoffs in the Dursley's bathroom, Harry's reflection had still seemed… Harry Potterish, for lack of a better term. Even with knew features, it was almost like his new face was simply superimposed on his old visage, like he was wearing a mask but Harry was just in reach beneath the surface.

Now a completely different person looked at him from the mirror. A person with delicate aristocratic features dressed in expensive clothes in a spacious bedroom filled with high-end trinkets. He was the pinnacle of breeding, a rich Pureblood heir with a powerful family of accomplished witches and wizards, and all the material wealth and possessions that included. The heavy lidded eyes made him look naturally disinterested, his new height and broader frame made him look more powerful and confident, even arrogant. The parlor of his skin implied that he'd never worked outside a day in his life, because that was peasant stuff. His hair was still wild after his attempt to tame it, but in a vivacious way instead of a messy way. He looked exactly how he would imagine a wizard named Romulus Lestrange would look like. Harry turned away from the mirror, hands shaking.

Was this who he was now? Some spoiled aristocratic? A disinterested, self-superior Pureblood? Would he go around Hogwarts, a swagger in his step, bragging about how rich he was, how powerful his family was, how pure his bloodline was? Was he no more than the son of a pair of Death Eaters?

Harry shook himself forcefully from that train of thought and all it would lead to. No. No matter what the mirror said he was still Harry James Potter. He still grew up in the Muggle World without a pound to his name. He was friends with Muggleborns and Half-bloods, and Purebloods not because of their status but in spite of it. He still abhorred the Dark Lord Voldemort with every inch of his being because he was a psychotic murderer gunning for genocide and Harry would fight him to the death before ever entertaining the thought of joining him.

Harry looked back at the reflection quickly; to make sure everything was in order before he marched down the stairs to remind everyone that he was Harry Potter, dammit. Or at least to remind himself of that. Seeing nothing out place and not wanting to spend too much time with the Romulus in the mirror, Harry headed out to find Sirius.

Harry paid more attention as he descended the staircase this time. The house was filthy, there was no other word for it- though unkempt, disgusting, and grimy were also strong contenders. Portraits hung on the walls; some so dirty they obscured their occupants, others staring at him with calculating- often grey- eyes. The steps creaked loudly under his feet, wooden planks protesting having to carry weight after years dormant.

As Harry passed the second floor, he could distinctly hear voices drifting through cracked doors. Ron was in some sort of argument with Ginny, but the words were unclear. Harry hastened his steps. He wasn't quite ready to face them alone, and he knew that made him a coward but it certainly wasn't going to stop him.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Harry went to enter the kitchen, hoping Sirius or Remus were in there because the only other room he knew in the house was the drawing room, and he wasn't ready for a confrontation with the Black Family Tapestry either. God, he felt pathetic.

Swinging the kitchen door open, Harry immediately wished he'd checked the drawing room first. Standing at the sink and washing dishes was none other than Molly Weasley, and her eyes were locked on his face.

"Er, hello?" Harry tried, feeling a bit embarrassed under Mrs. Weasleys undivided focus. Her eyes were practically cataloguing his every feature, and Harry could almost see her putting the pieces of his appearance together in her mind. A bit of recognition, and fear, was starting to creep across her face so Harry decided to snap her out of her thoughts before she arrived to any… accurate conclusions. He wondered if she'd ever met his parents, and if she had, what the circumstances of that particular meeting were.

"Do you know where Sirius is? Or Remus?" his question seemed to finally break through her thoughts as she gave herself a small shake before smiling hesitantly at Harry. Harry almost sighed out in relief. Hesitancy he could handle. Open hostility or suspicion would be so much worse.

"Hello, Romulus. I'm Molly Weasley. I believe Remus is in the sitting room. I'm not sure where Sirius went off to." Her voice, like her smile, was hesitant but not unkind.

"Um, where exactly is the sitting room, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked. He pointedly avoided saying anything like 'pleased to meet you' because they weren't just meeting and Harry wasn't trying to lie, but for some reason he couldn't choke out the words 'It's me, Harry Potter.'

"Just down the hall, first door on the left, across from the… house-elf heads," Mrs. Weasley grimaced at the mention of Kreacher's ancestors. Harry joined her.

"Thank you, ma'am." Harry almost thrashed himself for using the word 'ma'am.' He wasn't an overly polite stranger, dammit!

"Any time, dear."

Harry made a hasty retreat from the kitchen, debating with himself the whole way. What was he going to do? Tell everyone about his new heritage? No one? Only his friends? Could he even go back to being Harry Potter? Remus had said the Glamour Charms on him must have been one-of-a-kind. Did that mean no one else could make him look like Harry again? Would he have no choice but to take up the mantle of Romulus Lestrange and reveal Harry Potter as the smoke and mirrors he really was?

By the time Harry entered the sitting room, he was all worked up in an emotional storm. Remus looked up from a book he was reading- a large, dusty tome with no title and what appeared to be a blood stain on the cover- and stared at Harry for a moment blankly. Harry wondered if he was seeing what Harry saw looking in the mirror, the well-dressed Pureblood brat where Harry Potter once stood.

"Hello Harry, did you have a nice rest?" Remus inquired, no longer staring oddly at him.

"Yeah. I didn't really mean to sleep so late though. Sorry about that," Harry could feel heat rising to his cheeks again. Remus smiled at him reassuringly.

"It's no problem at all Harry. You must have been tired. And I think Sirius mentioned Kreacher putting you into a dreamless sleep," Remus replied. Harry felt his eyes blow wide.

"Can house-elves do that? Since when? Remus, I think Kreacher might be a little mad. He burnt all my clothes!" Harry was not happy to hear that a house-elf had more or less slipped him into a short, magical coma.

Remus actually had the audacity to snort and laugh at Harry's panicked deductions and exclamations.

"Oh, he's definitely mad. He's been locked up in this Magic-forsaken house for years taking orders from Sirius' mum's portrait. He couldn't go to live with any of the other Blacks because Sirius was his rightful Master but Sirius being in Azkaban meant Kreacher was stuck in this house alone. And Sirius mentioned he really wasn't all there before that happened. Did he really burn all your clothes?" Harry was not impressed by the amused curiosity in his voice.

"Everything but my uniforms, my dress robes, a few sweaters and Dad's cloak," Harry rattled off tersely. Remus was trying to suppress a smile. Prat.

"I guess he took offense to everything else. I wouldn't worry about it too much, Harry. I'm sure you won't have to walk around naked or anything. You look nice in what you have on." Remus nodded to the ensemble Kreacher had picked out. Harry let out a huff.

"That's not the point Remus. He can't just start burning my stuff! What if he had decided the invisibility cloak was 'offensive?'" Harry didn't know why he was trying to wipe the smile off of Remus' face. The man was so tired all the time, suffered so much, that he deserved this laugh at Harry's expense. Sighing in resignation, Harry flopped onto an old couch, and tried to adjust his attitude.

"Never mind. Those clothes weren't exactly 'nice' anyway. At least I'm not naked," Harry added that in just to get a laugh out of Remus and it worked as a soft chuckle pervaded the room.

"That's the spirit, Harry."

Remus and Harry sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Harry lay inelegantly across the couch, thinking, while Remus finished the chapter he was reading quickly. It sort of reminded Harry of when he and Remus would have tea back in his third year. Remus had been kind, and patient. Remus had _listened_ in a way that no other Professor, or adult, had listened to him in his whole life.

Professor McGonagall was nice and she tried but she was busy and stern and Harry had never quite gotten over how she had dismissed him and his friends when they tried to warn her about the stone in first year. Dumbledore was also nice to talk to, but Harry always got the sense that he knew exactly what Harry was going to say before he said it, and it wasn't a real conversation so much as Dumbledore going through the motions of listening but not hearing anything he hadn't known. Harry had also felt a bit connected to Moody this past year, but he turned out to be a violent Death Eater in disguise and had probably been laughing at him behind his back the whole year with his precious Master.

To their credit, the Weasley parents also listened to him. Harry just didn't see them that much because of Hogwarts and being trapped at the Dursley's. They were often ridiculously busy, as well, with their large family and Harry didn't want to add to that burden.

Remus had time though. Remus listened and believed him. And now Harry also had Sirius. Who listened and believed him as well. Who rescued him from the Dursley's with Remus when Harry had needed them the most. Harry was still angry that they had blown him off earlier in the summer, and he knew there were still things they weren't telling him, things that had to do with the newly discovered Order of the Phoenix, but that didn't make Harry any less grateful for what they did do.

Remus closed his book with a decisive thump and then turned to gaze pensively at Harry. Harry returned his look, tossing them into a surprise staring contest. Remus broke first, running a hand through his prematurely greying hair.

"Harry, now that you've had some time to think, how do you feel about all of this?" Remus gestured through the air to try and capture the enormity that was 'all of this.'

Harry tried to find the right words to express the absolute tangle that was his emotions. Remus had the most compassionate look on his face Harry had ever seen directed at him, and Harry looked up at the ceiling so he wouldn't be overwhelmed by the understanding in Remus' eyes.

"I feel… split. Like there's two people, and one lives in my head and the other lives in the mirror." The words were out before Harry could stop them. Shite. Remus probably thought he was loosing his mind now, developing multiple personalities or something like that.

"Wait, that's not what I meant exactly. It's just… I'm struggling… to…to sort of integrate everything together. Does that make sense?" Harry snuck a peak at Remus to see his reaction. The werewolf was nodding, a look of deep thought on his face.

"It makes perfect sense Harry. It must be hard to have to adjust a view you've always had of yourself," Remus replied, a certain tone in his voice that asked for more explanation without having to explicitly state the request.

"It is! I've always been the son of Lily and James Potter! And I was so happy when Hagrid told me they hadn't been drunks and all the other horrible things my relatives said and now it's like there's this big wall between me and them. Everyone always said I got this from my dad or that from my mum, but I didn't! So where did it come from? Was Rodolphus Lestrange good on a broom? Did Bellatrix struggle with Potions sometimes? I don't know! I do know they were good at the Cruciatus Curse for all that's worth." Harry babbled on, his rant getting bitter toward the end. Well, he was bitter. Bitter that he wasn't the legacy of funny and brave James Potter and brilliant and kind Lily Evans. He was the legacy of depraved sycophants. Harry saw Remus flinch subtly out of the corner of his eye at the mention of the Cruciatus and felt bad. Had Remus known Neville's parents?

"Harry you shouldn't think of yourself as nothing but your parents child. You're your own man, you always have been. Blood isn't destiny. You are Harry Potter on your own merits. I have no doubt that James would have been proud of your Quidditch ability no matter where it came from. In fact, I can clearly visualize him attributing your talent to that child's broom he got you on your first birthday. His exact words were 'We have to start him early Remus if we want him to be the youngest player to ever win the World Cup.' I also remember Lily slapping him upside the head and telling him you could be anything you wanted to be, even if it wasn't a Quidditch player. Harry, you are more than the sum of your parts."

Harry felt stinging behind his eyes, and couldn't reply to Remus' impassioned speech right away. He was positive if he did, his voice would crack in a horribly embarrassing manner. He took a few deep breaths to try and wrangle control back, and Remus politely looked away so he could collect himself.

"Thank you, Remus," Harry eventually managed to spit out thickly.

"Of course, Harry."

There were a few minutes of silence before Harry let out a long sigh, mind returning to his worries from before.

"Remus, what happens now? I mean am I going to have to tell everyone about this? Am I going to have to go to school like this? I can already hear Malfoy going on about it. _Well, look who's not a Potter after all. How does it feel to go from being an orphan to the son of Azkaban's Finest, Scarhead?_ " Harry's Malfoy impression had gotten much better since his voice changed. Harry shuddered at the realization and decided to do it as little as possible. Maybe just an occasional ' _My father will hear about this_!'

"Maybe we should wait to discuss this until Sirius gets back from the library. It should only take a few more minutes," Remus suggested.

"This place has a library?" Harry asked, voice incredulous. He'd never been in a home with a library before. Hell, he was pretty sure the only one capable of reading at the Dursley's was Aunt Petunia, and her literature of choice was home decorating magazines. Hermione probably thought she was in Heaven.

"Yep. It has the largest compilation of Dark Magic tomes in Britain. Although the Nott family library is a very close second." Okay, maybe not Heaven. More like Hermione's Purgatory then. Not quite Hell because that would be no books at all.

Before Harry could ask about what exactly was in the library other than Dark tomes, a sharp crack that Harry was getting used to echoed through the room.

"Master Romulus be forgetting his robe. Wouldn't want Master to look like nasty Muggle," Kreacher croaked out before snapping his fingers. The blue robe Harry had snubbed early appeared on his body with the buttons already done up. Kreacher bowed and disappeared before Harry could start yelling.

"He's absolutely barmy, Remus!" Harry exclaimed while trying to free himself of the dratted robe. Every button he undid rebuttoned itself instantly. He tried to jerk the stupid garment over his head but it wouldn't budge. Harry thrashed and twitched and pulled and yanked until he was panting tiredly. Remus was laughing so hard he clutched his sides.

"What'd I miss?" asked an amused Sirius Black from the doorway. Harry wheeled around to find a victim for his frustration.

"Your mad house-elf, that's what! The creepy bugger burned my clothes and manhandled me into this man-eating robe and now it won't come off!" Harry now had a good suspicion on how he'd ended up in silk pajamas without putting any on.

Sirius barked a few laughs as he further entered the room and sat down in an armchair next to Remus.

"At least he likes you Harry. He doesn't like anyone else in the house. Remus is a 'half-breed,' me and the Weasley's are 'blood traitors' and you can just imagine what he says about Hermione," Sirius offered, humor leaking out of his voice when he mentioned Hermione's treatment by Kreacher.

"How am I any less of a 'blood traitor' than you?" Harry questioned.

"You're not, but Kreacher doesn't know that yet. And you're also 'Miss Bella's' son so he probably just figures it would be impossible for you to be anything other than a blood purist." Sirius seemed to regret his words when he saw Harry's violent flinch at the mention of 'Miss Bella's son' being a blood purist. Remus gave Sirius a disapproving look and Sirius looked guilty,

"Too soon?" he asked a little meekly. Harry raised a single eyebrow and gave Sirius a flat look. Sirius looked the very definition of sheepish.

"Sirius," Remus started, looking to change the topic, "Harry and I wanted to discuss where we should go from here."

"An excellent question Remus! That's why I was in the library, actually. There are a few ways to create Glamours but the only option that lasts for a substantial amount of time would need to be anchored into your life force," Sirius explained to Harry. "It's pretty Dark magic but we've got a few books on the subject laying around somewhere."

"So you think I should just continue to be Harry Potter then? Like this whole thing never happened?" Harry asked. He wasn't worried about how to keep the secret as much as if he should keep the secret at all. Sirius and Remus exchanged glances.

"Would you rather reveal that you're Romulus Lestrange, Harry?" Remus asked slowly. Harry bit his lip.

"No, it might be easier to be Romulus than Harry, but I just… I don't feel the same. Like something's changed. Like I'm not Harry Potter and everything I'd do with his face would be a lie," Harry stuttered out. He wasn't really sure how he felt. He wouldn't mind continuing on as Harry Potter, even if it was a dangerous and difficult life to lead, but he wasn't sure he could look at Ron and Hermione with this gigantic secret weighing down on him. Sirius reached forward to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I know you'll get tired of hearing this, but you are Harry Potter. A face doesn't make a man. Trust me," Sirius said, and Harry knew Sirius had learned that lesson the hard way.

Sirius Black had been roguishly handsome for nearly his entire life. He had the venerated Black looks in spades- silky dark hair, aristocratic features, intense grey eyes. Azkaban had robbed him of a lot of that though. He'd left with yellowed skin, stringy hair, and an overall gauntness that brought images of corpses to mind. Although he'd healed since his release, he'd never quite regain the haunting attractiveness of his youth. His face had truly changed, but he was himself despite it's transformations. Harry knew his mother, Bellatrix, had been quite beautiful in a similar way to Sirius in the Pensieve memory. He wondered what she looked like now.

"A part of me knows that, but there's another part that worries," Harry murmured. It wasn't just his looks that were bothering Harry. Recently his temper had become a lot shorter. His rage and frustration burned hot in his chest, sometimes over the most insignificant things. Now that he knew who his parents were, he was starting to wonder if it might not be genetic somehow. Like he was starting with anger but soon he would start to hurt people like they had, damage innocents beyond repair and enjoy it. He knew mental health ran in families. What if he was going mad, and would soon be no better than the monsters that created him?

"You don't need to decide now, Harry," Remus pointed out helpfully. "There's over a month until Hogwarts starts again. You can think about it. And if you trust them to keep a secret, I don't see why you can't tell your friends about all of this." Remus was a perpetual voice of reason.

"Besides, we haven't even found the Glamour spell yet," Sirius added. "You're going to have to be Romulus for at least awhile longer until we do, so you might as well be able to talk and hang out with your friends in the meantime. Plus, as much as I hate to say it, we're going to have to tell Dumbledore." Sirius seemed less than pleased about getting Dumbledore's input on the situation. Harry wondered why.

"Why does Dumbledore have to know?" Harry asked.

"He'll be able to see the Glamour on you, mark my words. We need to tell him or he'll think you're some imposter and chuck your arse out of Hogwarts," Sirius explained. His face took on an irritated scowl. "We'll probably have to tell Snape too. He's used this type of Glamour before and knows the Dark Arts pretty well. You may be able to fool him for a while, but you spend so much time together at school that eventually he might pick up on it. Best not to risk it, I suppose." Sirius looked like he very much wanted to risk it, but had failed justifying it even in his own head. Harry sighed dejectedly.

"Great, just another thing for Snape to taunt me about." Harry knew he sounded petulant; he just didn't care.

"So, I'm going to tell my friends and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and you are going to inform Dumbledore and Snape, yeah?" Harry reiterated.

"You don't have to tell your friends if you don't want to, Harry, it was just a suggestion," Remus intoned. Harry was already shaking his head, though.

"No, I want to tell them. I don't think I can do this on my own," Harry said, although there were still doubts plaguing his mind. What if they cut him off like they did this summer with their secrets? What if he and Ron have another falling out like this passed year? Would he keep the secret even if they were fighting? Even if they weren't friends anymore? And if he didn't, what would be the consequences?

"You're never alone, Harry, you got us," Sirius said resolutely. Harry felt a snide comment about their summer correspondence bubble up but he pushed it back down. Merlin, what was wrong with him? They helped him when it counted, he should stop fixating on his miserable summer. It was hard though, Harry was practically a wreck the first week back with Voldemort's resurrection and Cedric's death weighing heavily on his mind, and a part of him felt like everyone who should have been helping him had turned there backs on him and left him to rot. The pain had been acute and the resulting anger intense. It would take time to get over.

"I have another question," Harry blurted out, changing the topic. Remus looked bemused and Sirius a little hurt but Harry ploughed on. "How did I even end up with the Potter's anyway?" It hadn't seemed as paramount as some of his other worries, but it did deserve some attention. Sirius gave the most unhelpful shrug in answer.

"No clue. I know that Bella and Rodolphus were outed as Death Eater's toward the end of the war, so if they ever lost you to the Ministry there's no way anyone would have given you back to them. Andy was disowned and Cissy was under suspicion because of Lucius-"

"Lucius? As in Malfoy? Why would I go to the Malfoy's?" Harry asked, a bad feeling building in the pit of his stomach.

"Narcissa Malfoy is a Black. She's your mother's younger sister: your aunt," Sirius replied. Harry's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.

"Are you telling me that Lucius Malfoy is my uncle? That _Draco Malfoy_ is my cousin?" Harry choked out, feeling all the blood leave his face.

"Yep," Sirius replied, popping the 'p' and nodding succinctly, ignoring Harry's horrified reaction. "You also have another cousin from your mother's other sister. Your aunt is named Andromeda and your cousin is named Nymphadora, but she goes by her last name. You'll probably get to meet her sooner rather than later." Harry was still too perturbed by learning that he was closely blood related to Draco Malfoy to ask any questions about Andromeda or Nymphadora.

"Wouldn't I have gone to my grandparents then?" Harry asked. Sirius shook his head.

"Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus left England when they came under suspicion for pay rolling the Dark side. I'm pretty sure they're at the family chateau in France. It's a fifty-fifty chance that they even knew you existed before you became Harry Potter, and if they did they were in the same position as Cissy. The Ministry wouldn't have handed you over. Really the only Black that would have been allowed to take you was me, and I didn't even know Bella had a kid. They would have put you in an orphanage. I guess that's where James and Lily came in. I really don't know." Sirius looked troubled and upset. Harry supposed it probably had something to do with James keeping secrets from him.

"I still can't believe Malfoy's my cousin," Harry sighed petulantly.

"Is it worse or better than having Dudley as a cousin?" Sirius asked. Harry opened his mouth to snap out an answer before hesitating. Was it worse? They were both spoiled prats with doting parents. Malfoy was definitely smarter than Dudley, but was that better when weighing your bullies against each other? Malfoy was also a lot less likely to get in a physical confrontation with Harry. But he could use magic to torment instead, and had in the past. There was the added bonus that Harry could fight back against Malfoy in ways he was never allowed to with Dudley. But it was easier to threaten Dudley with magic because he didn't have any.

"I… I'm not sure…" Harry mumbled, still thinking deeply. Sirius and Remus looked amused by the concentration Harry was giving the question. "Can't they both be horrible in their own special way?"

Sirius barked out a loud laugh at the response and Harry grinned back. Maybe he could do this, as long as he had Sirius and Remus in his corner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Some of these magical objects and words are killing me grammatically. I decided that when 'muggle' is being used as a noun (like in Muggleborn or Muggle World) it'll be capitalized, but when it's and adjective (muggle rags, muggle filth) it won't be. That's sort of the general rule for me, which is why I'm not going to capitalize 'apparate' (as a verb) even though some authors do. Sorry, just wanted to give a method to the madness. About Druella and Cygnus Black: originally, I thought it would be easier for the story if they were dead. But I noticed that in canon and fanfiction almost their entire generation is dead, even though wizards are supposed to be long lived and they honestly wouldn't be that old. It bother's me, so I decided to keep them alive but out of the way. But because I let them live, I now feel personally obligated to use them in the story, so keep your eyes open for more Blacks to be crawling out of the woodwork. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	5. Previously Known as Harry Potter

Harry took a fortifying breath and tried to steel himself for the coming conversation. It seemed like all of his conversations were emotional and complicated lately. He was at the bottom of the staircase, straightening his clothes out even though he new it wouldn't make a speck of difference.

Once Harry felt he'd wasted a sufficient amount of time, he ascended the stairs with all the enthusiasm of an inmate walking down Death Row. It was time he just spit it out. He could trust the Weasleys; he always had in the past. And Hermione would know what to do. She always seemed to have the right words to say. Especially when it came to emotional topics where Harry and Ron were about as obtuse as triangles.

Harry reached the second floor landing and took a moment to regain his confidence. He raised his head, threw his shoulders back, and went to step forward, only to stumble back in surprise when some grubby curtains on the wall snapped back to reveal a portrait.

The portrait depicted a woman who had most likely been beautiful once, but time and life had been unkind. Her skin was yellowed, her face was lined, her nails were claws more than anything, and she sneered out of her portrait with an ugly look on her face; a look that seemed to shutter abruptly when she caught sight of him.

"Romulus?" she asked, her voice had a forceful edge to it that made her question sound more like a demand.

"Er, yes ma'am. How did you know?" Harry asked the portrait while straightening up from his embarrassed trip a moment before.

"You look just like your mother. She was my niece, you know. Poor dear, lost you when you were only weeks old to that dratted Ministry," what had started out as a nostalgic tone became aggressive quickly. "Where have you been, boy? I sent Kreacher to get you when the war was over and the suspicion on the family was lifted, but he couldn't find you. None of the family could. Your loss practically broke your dear mother's heart, I hope you know."

"Wait, I'm sorry, who are you exactly?" Harry questioned, trying to avoid the 'where-have-you-been' question. Harry got a distinct feeling that anyone who referred to Bellatrix Lestrange as 'dear' would be very displeased to know that Romulus had been staying with Muggles for the last fourteen years as Harry Potter. The portrait seemed rather offended by the question.

"Have you not been listening? I'm your great-aunt. Your grandfather Cygnus is my brother. My name is Walburga Black of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. If you're in the house than you must know my disappointment of an eldest son, Sirius," she explained haughtily.

Harry felt his eyebrows rise at the explanation. So, this was Sirius' mum. Harry was starting to understand why Sirius had run away from home. Walburga seemed to be a bit of a judgmental harpy. Still, like with Kreacher, he was pretty sure Walburga wouldn't be a good enemy to have. She sat in such a prominent place in the house that it really would be quite impossible to avoid her. Harry sucked in a breath and prepared to be much more polite than Mrs. Black probably deserved.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Aunt Walburga," the lie felt heavy on his tongue.

"Yes, I believe it is. At least you have manners; that can only help you, Nephew. Unlike some of the other riff-raff Sirius has been letting stomp about in my home!" Her voice was getting shrill and her eyes had bulged a bit. Harry decided to play the role he's had to play to all of his aunt's (namely Petunia but occasionally Marge) over his lifetime: the 'yes-man.'

"Of course, Aunt Walburga," Harry replied smoothly, trying to plan an escape from this conversation.

"What are you wearing, Romulus? Are those Regulus' clothes?" she questioned, peering at him through narrow eyes.

"Yes. Kreacher set them out for me. He found the clothes I came here with to be… substandard. He feels I should wear Regulus' clothes until Sirius can help me fill out my wardrobe a bit," Harry admitted, hoping he wasn't about to be yelled at for wearing Regulus' clothes against his will.

"Hmmm, Kreacher wouldn't set out Regulus' clothes for just anyone. Kreacher loved Regulus, he'd only do it if he felt it was necessary." A suspicious light entered Walburga's painted eyes. "Tell me, Nephew, did Sirius make you the Heir to the House of Black?" Walburga sounded slightly hopeful, and started to evaluate Harry more critically.

"Uh, yes, I believe he did," Harry said cautiously, weary of the spark that had just flared to life in Mrs. Black's yellowed face. Walburga allowed an unholy grin to splay across her mouth.

"It was about time that no-good blood traitor did something for the betterment of this family! If you are anything like darling Bella you'll be a perfect heir! It's a shame you don't bare the name of Black though. Perhaps something can be done about that. Was Sirius the one who found you, Nephew?" Harry felt a scowl fall over his face at Walbuga calling Sirius a blood traitor. He considered making a sneering remark back, but held his tongue, barely.

"Yes, Sirius was the one who found me. He's the one who brought me here, and has been telling me about the Black family," Harry asserted, even if the last bit was true only in that Sirius told him that Bellatrix was his mother and he was a Black. Walburga might interpret it as Sirius being a good Black though, and Harry didn't want the harpy saying nasty things about Sirius anymore.

"Oh, whatever he's been telling you about the Blacks is wrong. Sirius never had the proper pride in his family like he should have. If you want the Black family history you will come to me or read some of the memoirs in the library. Is that clear?" Walburga demanded.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied, getting really sick of this conversation and finally deciding that no better opportunity than the present was going to present itself to leave Walburga to her vile words. "I was actually heading down to the drawing room to get another look at the Black Family Tapestry, but I may go to the library afterwards. I'll see you later, Aunt Walburga."

"Of course, Nephew. You best come speak to me again, I have many stories of your dear mother that I'm sure you'll want to hear."

"Of course."

Harry beat a hasty retreat, walking right past the drawing room with no regrets.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione was in Ron's room with the others, perched on the bed that would soon be Harry's when he arrived and re-reading a fiction novel her mother had gotten her for her birthday last year. She was very tempted to turn straight to her favorite passages and skip over some of the exposition, but then the story would be done far too quickly. So she soldiered on through _another_ descriptive paragraph, this one highlighting the main character's car, but allowing her eyes to wander from the page occasionally.

She saw Fred and George huddled in the corner, murmuring quietly about god-knows-what. Ginny and Ron were locked in a game of chess, with Ron soundly beating Ginny through the floor, but Ginny persisting to save her king at the last minute. This had become a regular state of affairs in the house. There really wasn't much to do at Headquarters when you're not a member of the Order. Molly told them all they were going to start deep cleaning the house tomorrow, but Hermione wasn't convinced that cleaning this place would be a step up from boredom. If only the library wasn't filled with almost exclusively vile and dangerous texts…

Hermione was just getting into the romantic backstory of her novel's protagonist when she heard a small noise at the door. She must have been the only one to hear it as the others didn't look up from their time killing activities. The doorway was opened just enough to see the mysterious Romulus materialize out of the hallway's shadows. He was well-dressed in an outfit Hermione could only describe as wizarding business casual, with an over robe covering a button down shirt and slacks.

Hermione examined him more closely as he peeked into the room. There was just something a little bit too… different from Sirius for Romulus to be his son. She wasn't sure if it was his eyes or his hair or what, but she felt pretty confident that he was Sirius' cousin. He was biting his lip pensively in a vaguely familiar gesture that Hermione couldn't remember where she saw before. His eyes tracked across the room, eventually connecting with her gaze, and they stared at each other for a moment before Romulus broke contact, let out a sigh, and stepped more fully in to the room. His more complete entrance finally drew the attention of the others.

"Hey, you must be that Romulus bloke we've been hearing so much about," George exclaimed while he hopped over to the new occupant to shake his hand in an over exaggerated manner. "It's such a pleasure to meet the ever mysterious Romulus Black. I'm George Weasley, the attractive twin."

"My last name isn't Black actually," Romulus replied in a hesitant voice as he reclaimed his hand, only to have Fred steal it away again for an equally ridiculous handshake.

"Fred Weasley, the ridiculously good looking twin. No? We just assumed, Sirius said you were family," Fred pointed out, obviously digging for the nature of Romulus and Sirius' relationship without outright asking.

"My mother was the Black, not my father. Look, guys-" Romulus started but was cut off by Ginny taking the situation into her own hands.

"So what is your exact relation to Sirius then?" Ginny inquired bluntly, and then as an afterthought, "I'm Ginny, by the way."

"His mother was my mother's aunt, so he's my cousin I guess. Second cousin? But anyway, guys-"

"Blimey! Hermione, you were right!" Ron exclaimed, once more cutting Romulus off. Hermione could see irritation building in Romulus' face. "I'm Ron Weasley, and this is Hermione Granger," Ron gestured at Hermione who smiled at Romulus, hoping to belay his growing frustration.

"Yes, I know. If you'll just-"

"What do you mean 'you know'? It's not like we've introduced ourselves to you before," Ginny interrupted for the final time. It was final because Romulus' temper finally boiled over.

"If you lot would just stop talking for a moment I'd tell you I know you all already because I'm Harry Potter!" exclaimed a clearly irritated Romulus. It hadn't quite been a shout, but the raised voice was loud enough to make the room's occupants jerk back in shock. Well, it was a combination of the raised voice and what that voice was saying. His eyes went wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth like he couldn't believe what had just come pouring out.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, disbelieving.

"You see that, Fred? There's another prankster in the house."

"Yes I do, George. Although, he has an odd sense of humor."

"This isn't a joke," the-boy-who-may-have-been-Harry said tightly.

"Prove it," Ginny demanded, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Over exposure to the twins has made her paranoid.

Romulus raised a few dark curls from his forehead to reveal a famous lightning bolt scar.

"Oi, Harry! It is you!" Ron exclaimed looking gob smacked. Fred was leaning foreword and inspecting the scar carefully.

"I'm not convinced. It might be a scratch, or a short term Glamour," he postulated. "Say something only Harry would know," he instructed. Possible-Harry released an irritated breath and rolled his eyes to the ceiling in thought.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The twin's eyes widened before matching grins emerged on their faces.

"Harry!" they shouted together before tackling Harry in a hug.

"So _now_ you believe me?" Harry bit out, sounding entirely unimpressed.

As soon as the twins were done Hermione was across the room and in Harry's arms.

"Oh my god, Harry! I can't believe you're here! Are you okay? What happened to you? Why did Sirius and Remus go to get you? Oh Harry, I missed you! I'm sorry about the letters. I know you were upset but we weren't allowed to tell you anything," Hermione cried, throwing all of her carefully worded apologies out the window in favor of a chaotic, emotional rant. His arms, which had initially snaked around her back to return the hug, tensed horribly when the letters were mentioned before pulling away.

His face had gone dreadfully blank, and Hermione could see those shadows in his eyes, worse than ever before in his handsome new face.

"We can talk about that later," he said tersely, and Hermione could already tell it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. "You probably have a lot of questions about… this." He gestured at his own warped appearance.

"Uh, yeah. Kinda," Ron said unsurely.

"Harry, what happened? Is it Polyjuice? Are you not supposed to be here?" Hermione asked worriedly. She could easily imagine a scenario where Sirius went to go get Harry, had him Polyjuice into a cousin of his, and then snuck him into Headquarters.

"No, it's not Polyjuice. I don't know why I'm not supposed to be here—it's Sirius' house and he invited me, even if it is Headquarters to the Order," Harry replied, his voice just daring her to tell him he shouldn't be here. She couldn't stop herself.

"But Dumbledore said Sirius wasn't supposed to leave the house. And he said you had to stay at your relatives for a while this summer—for your own protection," Hermione insisted. Harry look unimpressed, his heavy eyes narrowed and a derisive curve turned his lips.

"I don't see what gives Dumbledore the right to boss Sirius around in his own house. He's a great headmaster, Hermione, and I respect him, but he's only a man. He can be wrong. He didn't know Moody was actually a Death Eater this past year. He didn't know _Voldemort_ was in the school our first year. He isn't perfect," Harry explained his reasoning. Hermione and the Weasleys flinched at the name Voldemort but Harry didn't bat an eyelash. He didn't seem angry with the Headmaster, per say. More disappointed, really, like a great childhood idol that he got to meet in person wasn't like how he imagined in real life.

"Well, we don't care whose permission you didn't get to be here, mate," interjected Fred.

"Yeah, we're a little more concerned about the whole looking-like-a-completely-different-person thing," continued George.

"They're right, Harry. What the bloody hell happened to you?" Ron asked.

The irritation seemed to leak out of Harry all at once as his shoulders slumped and a hand came to rub at his face tiredly.

"You guys may want to sit down for this, it's a bit of a story."

In a minute Fred, George and Ginny were sitting on one bed while Ron, Hermione, and Harry shared the other. Everyone was looking at Harry expectantly, and Harry took a deep breath before beginning to talk.

"Earlier this week I just started changing. It was slow at first. My eyesight improved, I got paler and taller. But then my eye color started to change, and I really started freaking out. Hedwig was out so I couldn't send a letter to ask what was going on. I locked myself in my room to wait for her to get back but last night everything just sort of… spun out of control." Harry looked to the side distractedly, as if he was going over the events of last night in his head. His voice was more subdued as he continued. "I dozed off for a bit and when I woke up, I looked… like this."

"Just like that? Did it hurt?" Ginny asked while Harry paused. Harry shook his head to the question.

"No, it didn't feel like anything, it just sort of happened. Hedwig came back and I sent her off to Sirius and Remus. They didn't know what happened at first. Remus actually accused Sirius of being my father and giving me to the Potters." Harry chuckled a little at the thought while the others twittered for a moment. Hermione couldn't stop an awkward cough from leaving her.

"They took me here, and we were going to start researching what this could possibly be when Kreacher called me Master Romulus. Sirius put it together after that. We went up to the drawing room where the Black Family Tapestry is and Sirius found a Romulus on it, born on July first, and apparently the Heir to the House of Black." Harry swallowed hard here, and Hermione felt like the crux of the tale was coming upon them. "Sirius had declared me the Heir officially a while back. So if I'm the Heir and Romulus is the Heir…"

"Then you must be Romulus," Hermione whispered in shock. "How do you know the Tapestry hasn't been tampered with? Or it's just mistaken?" Hermione questioned. She resolved to visit the drawing room as soon as possible to study the Black Family Tapestry.

"Sirius says the thing has been around since the Middle Ages and is imbued with so much family magic that it's more or less impossible to mess with it. I've been on it since I was born apparently, it's self-updating, but Sirius didn't know there even was a Romulus in the family because he hasn't seen it since he ran away after his fifth year."

"Wait, does this mean that you're not a Potter? Like you actually have different parents?"

"I'm not a Potter by blood, technically. I talked with Remus and Sirius and they aren't sure how I ended up with the Potters because apparently they didn't tell anyone I wasn't theirs," Harry elaborated.

"There are charms that can hide a pregnancy and they were rather popular during the war. People thought pregnant woman looked like more vulnerable targets for Death Eaters in raids or attacks. And there were a few… uh… _pointed_ attacks on pregnant Muggleborns to make the point that they weren't welcome to _infect_ the gene pool," Hermione mused aloud with a grimace. The others also had horrified looks on their faces, as if the idea had never occurred to them before. "I bet your pare- uh, the Potters could have claimed they were using those charms to keep Lily safe."

"I suppose," Harry said, still looking disturbed. "At any rate, there was no one available to take me in at that point, especially if the Ministry had me, so the Potter's probably adopted me or something at that point."

"Why couldn't your family take you in? And how did your family lose you in the first place?" Fred asked. Harry bit his lip before answering.

"I'm not sure about my father's side of the family, but almost all of the Blacks were under suspicion of being Death Eaters or Death Eater associates. The Ministry would never have given me to any of them. Probably the only smart thing the Ministry ever did," Harry mumbled the last bit angrily. Hermione noticed the flagrant avoidance of Fred's second question immediately.

"Okay, who exactly are your parents Harry? The picture you're painting is starting to sound a wee bit grim," George inquired.

Harry looked really nervous now. He bowed his head and muttered an incomprehensible answer.

"What was that?" Ron asked. Harry took another deep breath,

"My parents are Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange."

Those names meant absolutely nothing to Hermione. They also seemingly didn't mean anything to Ron or Ginny either because they both blinked blankly.

"Dear Merlin," came the absolutely horrified whisper of the twins. Both were paler than milk, their freckles standing strangely on their faces. Their eyes were huge, their bodies tense, and they were staring at Harry as if he'd just handed them a corpse.

"Who's Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange? How do _you two_ know who they are?" Ron asked, looking as confused as Hermione felt.

"Death Eaters."

"Some of the worst."

"And the most famous."

"They've got life sentences in Azkaban."

"Apparently, they were in the Inner Circle."

"They killed a lot of people."

"But torture was their specialty."

Fred and George's twin-speak wasn't nearly as light-hearted as usual. It was almost like they were sharing the burden of this knowledge rather than just splitting sentences.

"If they're so famous, how come we've never heard of them?" Ginny asked, eyes wide and confused. Harry was staring intently at the wall while the twins explained, looking tired with his new face pinched in misery.

"Mum never let talk like that in the house, you know that Gin. We didn't know about it until a few years ago when we overheard Bill and Charlie discussing it. Apparently something happened at Gringotts near the Lestrange vault, which was the only reason they were discussing the Lestranges in the first place," Fred explained.

"Not to mention it's an unspoken taboo to talk about it in Gryffindor, so it's not like you would have heard about it from your year mates," George continued.

"Taboo? Why won't anyone talk about it? I mean people talk about You-Know-Who sometimes. Mostly about how glad they are he's gone, but still. What makes the Lestranges worse?" Hermione asked, getting a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's because of Neville, isn't it?" Harry spoke up, voice soft and mournful. The twins flinched.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"What does any of this have to do with Neville?" Ron asked looking even more confused then before. Harry looked at the ground before answering his question.

"The Lestranges are most famous for using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank and Alice Longbottom until they went insane," Harry whispered, sounding ashamed. Hermione reached over and gripped his hand firmly. He squeezed back a quick thanks and didn't let go.

"Oh, Merlin. Neville," Ginny said, looking absolutely horrified. Ron was turning green in disgust.

"I went into Dumbledore's Pensieve this past year, and I saw their trial. It was Bellatrix, Rodolphus, his brother Rabastan, and Barty Crouch Jr. The Lestranges admitted to it freely. They were so… _proud_ of what they did; of working for their precious _Master_. I didn't tell you because I wanted to respect Neville's privacy. But I guess I have a certain right to the information now, don't I?" Harry's voice was getting increasingly self-deprecating and bitter, and Hermione clutched harder onto his hand.

"Harry what are you going to do?" Ron asked, looking worriedly at his friend. "School starts again in like a month. Are you going to have to tell everyone who you are?"

"It probably won't come to that," Harry said quickly. "The Glamour that was making me look like Harry Potter came down because it was pretty old. My mum- Lily- put it up. Sirius says they can put up another one to make me look like Harry again if I want to."

"Your mum's Glamour lasted all these years? That's impossible! Powerful Glamours last a few weeks tops, let alone over a decade!" Hermione exclaimed. She could feel the ever-present curiosity, the need to _know_ , bubbling up inside of her.

"Remus said it was one-of-a-kind. My mum was a Charm's prodigy; there probably isn't another case like it anywhere," Harry said, cracking a smile. Hermione took careful note of the way Lily Potter was still 'mum' to Harry. He'd referred to Bellatrix and Rodolphus as 'mother' and 'father' instead, and not even as titles for his parents, but more like factual descriptors. "Sirius said there's something in the Black Library that might be able to hide me for a while. He's looking into it." Hermione got the distinct impression that Harry was hiding something on that topic but chose not to push, for now.

"So you're just going to go back to being Harry Potter and pretend nothing happened?" Ginny tried to clarify. Harry looked rather uncomfortable about the topic.

"Something like that. We can't really decide anything until Sirius finds the spell he's looking for, so until then, I'm going to look like this, at least for a little while," Harry explained. Hermione decided to ask how he really feels about being Harry Potter again at some point when they are alone. There was something in his eyes that made it seem like he wasn't quite pleased with pretending nothing happened.

"I have a question," Fred announced imperiously, perhaps recognizing how uncomfortable Harry was with the previous topic. "What the bloody hell are you wearing?" He motioned down at Harry's robes that were buttoned securely but with a revealing enough cut to show dress pants and a silk shirt underneath. Harry, to Hermione's surprise, rolled his eyes dramatically.

"You'll never believe this. You know that barmy house-elf that's running around the place? Kreacher?" he asked.

"Harry! You shouldn't call Kreacher barmy! He's old and sick," she chastised.

"No, Hermione, he really is barmy. He burned my clothes!" Hermione blinked at Harry stupidly.

"What?"

"He burned my clothes! Everything but my uniforms, invisibility cloak, a few sweaters and my dress robes. He even burned my socks! Apparently, my clothing 'offended' him or something. He's lost his wits, Hermione," Harry elaborated. The twins were snickering merrily along with Ron and Ginny, and Harry was looking at her imploringly, like he wanted her to agree with his assessment.

Hermione saw Fred and George share a wicked smirk out of the corner of her eye, and hoped they weren't about to develop anything that involved burning stuff.

"Oh, so these are Sirius' clothes, then?" asked Ginny.

"Actually, they belonged to Regulus Black, whoever that is," Harry corrected her.

"He's the guy with the creepy collage in his room, yeah?" Ron asked with a grimace. Hermione shuddered her agreement. The obsession the collage implied disturbed her.

"Creepy collage?" Harry wondered, looking confused.

"In the room you were staying in, there was a collage dedicated to You-Know-Who," Hermione informed him. Harry jerked back in surprise.

"Really? I didn't look at it, but Sirius did say most of the family was made up of Death Eaters. Ew."

Hermione sent him a sympathetic look. Harry's eyes widened suddenly and his face jerked up with a grim expression.

"I forgot to tell you guys the worse part," he said solemnly.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, wondering what could possibly be worse.

"My mother's younger sister is Narcissa Malfoy. _Draco Malfoy is my cousin_."

The look of horror on Ron's face would stay with Hermione for a long time. He looked like Christmas was cancelled, the Chudley Cannons were disbanded, and Hogwarts switched to an all-vegetarian diet all on the same day.

"Harry, no. _No_ ," he whispered in dread.

"I know. And the worst part is that I'm unsure if it's an improvement over Dudley," Harry mused. Ron shook his head so hard he looked like a dog shaking water off.

"It's worse. It just is, don't overthink it. Just accept it for the tragedy it is," Ron claimed despairingly. Harry's lip twitched in amusement at Ron's drama and Hermione was grateful for Ron taking the attention away from more sensitive topics.

"Harry, can you come down for a moment," Professor Lupin asked, newly arrived and standing in the doorway. Harry nodded once, and got up to follow Lupin out of the room, finally letting go of Hermione's hand as he did so.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You better pray to whatever god you believe in, Black, that this meeting is worth my time or I'll make you regret it," the silky tones of Severus Snape invaded the kitchen, which included Molly and Arthur Weasley, Remus, and Sirius himself. They were all waiting on Dumbledore, who should be here any minute for the exclusive emergency meeting Sirius had set up, and drinking tea Molly had prepared in the interim. He figured telling the truth of this matter would be easier the sooner he did it.

"Keep your hair on, Snape. Your time's not that valuable," Sirius said dismissively, knowing that being disregarded always pissed Snape off.

"Of course not, I'm just the only Marked spy in the Dark Lord's ranks with exclusive access to vital information for our cause. Not really that important at all," he drawled with dark sarcasm. Sirius struggled not to roll his eyes, and then wondered why he was bothering to stop himself at all.

"I apologize Snape, I didn't mean to doubt your ability to kiss arse," Sirius said with faux-shame in his voice. Snape's eye twitched in a very satisfying way.

"That's enough you two. We're all on the same side, there's no reason for this kind of unpleasantness," Molly intoned. If she was making a good point, Sirius chose to ignore it.

"Sit down, Padfoot,"Remus commanded absently while thumbing through the Daily Prophet and grimacing every once and a while- probably at the mentions of Harry being an unstable liar and Dumbledore being senile.

"I am sitting, Moony," Sirius sulked and Remus continued to barely pay attention to him. Prat.

The fireplace flared green for a moment before the elderly figure of Albus Dumbledore stepped out. His robes were a light blue with white trimming, his hat was pointed, and his beard was cascading resplendently from his face. So, he looked the same as always.

"Hello, all. I hope you're having a pleasant day," he greeted genially as he went to go sit by Snape. Everyone in the room greeted him in return and Remus finally put down the paper.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you all today? Sirius?" Dumbledore asked, light-hearted but focused. Sirius had to give credit where credit was due: Dumbledore had the very unique ability to maintain a pleasant demeanor in all situations.

"Well, there's been a bit of an… incident," Sirius started, not really sure how to tell them. "We have a new house guest as of this morning."

"Did it occur to you at all Black to clear this with the Order first before you go letting in anyone you feel like? There is more than your security at risk here you know," Snape started harshly, eyes burning. If Sirius actually gave one wit for the well being of Severus Snape, he could understand his point. Snape was in a precarious position spying on the Dark Lord, and a leak of any kind was probably going to end with Snape tortured to death in the worst way imaginable. As it was, Sirius cared just enough to not expose Snape, set him up for failure, or hurt him actively. But if the universe was going to handle Snape for him, who was he to argue?

"Did it occur to you that this is my house and I can let anyone in who I damn well please?" Sirius shot back, getting really sick of people telling him what to do in his own house.

"That is enough of that, I think," Dumbledore interjected calmly, interrupting Snape's retort. "Sirius, I trust you had a good reason for bringing this new person to Headquarters?"

"Oh, definitely. He's family and he needed my help," Sirius replied promptly, still beating around the bush. "Moony, can you go get Romulus for me?" Sirius requested. Maybe it would be easier to just show them. Remus left the room agreeably, while Arthur decided to speak up for the first time in the meeting.

"Sirius, no offence, but I thought the rest of your family holds loyalty to the other side. Is it… wise to bring one of them here?"

"No worries, Arthur. I swear he wants absolutely _nothing_ to do with the Dark," Sirius replied confidently.

"Can you really be sure, Black? You and the wolf have proven to be… less than capable when determining whose side people are truly on," Snape replied, alluding to Peter slyly. Sirius wondered if anyone would stop him if he took a swing at Snape's greasy head.

"Hello Romulus, dear," intoned Molly as Sirius' godson entered the kitchen. Arthur must have recognized his resemblance to Bellatrix where his wife did not, because he sprayed the gulp of tea he had just drunk across the table and started choking, his eyes fastened on Harry. The color had left Snape's face completely and he sat there still as stone and without another scathing comment for once. Albus' eyebrows were so high that they reached the edge of his pointy hat.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied, moving to sit between Sirius and Remus. "Did you tell them?" Harry asked, looking at Sirius and avoiding the gazes of the rest of the room's occupants.

"Sort of," Sirius said, a little embarrassed that he was going to use Harry's presence to drive the point home without telling him.

"Sort of?" Harry wondered, but Sirius cut across him, before he lost his nerve.

"This is my cousin, Romulus Lestrange, previously known as Harry Potter."

Sirius would treasure the look on Professor Dumbledore's face at that announcement until the day he died. The look of utter astonishment, of abject surprise on his face was so unseen and uncommon that Sirius was a little surprised his facial muscles could even form such a gob smacked expression. The only thing that even sort of distracted him was Arthur, who had taken another sip of tea to try and sooth his choking, spraying it into the unsuspecting face of Severus Snape. Sirius figured Snape must be practicing some hardcore Occlumency because he hadn't started screaming at Arthur for his impromptu shower or Sirius for shattering everything he knew about his most detested student.

"What?" Molly asked, looking absolutely incredulous and breaking the silent spell in the kitchen. She hadn't known his last name and apparently hadn't divined his identity by appearance like her husband had. "You can't… I mean…"

"Sirius," Arthur inquired in rasping tones, "please tell me that this is actually your kid and your just using an elaborate cover up to save face."

"Why does everyone keeping asking that? For the last time, Harry is not my illegitimate son! I mean just look at him! He's practically Bella's carbon copy! Merlin." Sirius huffed his indignation. He was a bit loose in his youth, but not _that_ loose.

"Are you absolutely sure that's Potter and not some replacement with a convenient story?" Snape asked having somewhat regained his composure. Sirius was sure he could still see shock and confusion and an amalgam of other unidentified emotions in his eyes.

"It's definitely Harry. Watch. Harry, where was the first time you saw me?" Sirius asked. Harry sent him an irritated look for making him perform for the others, but went along with it anyway.

"Privet Drive after I blew up Marge and ran away," he answered promptly.

"Potter!" Snape barked, "Who cursed your broom during your first Quidditch match?"

"Quirrell, but we thought it was you because you were performing a counter curse. Is that enough proof for you?" Harry asked defensively. Snape's lip curled but he didn't say anything more.

"One last question, Harry," Dumbledore spoke up, looking speculative, "What House did the Sorting Hat think most appropriate for you?"

Harry turned his head and mumbled under his breath. Sirius couldn't hear the words, but he had the feeling that they weren't complimentary.

"Slytherin, Sir," Harry replied tersely.

Sirius was absolutely gob smacked; he could feel his jaw drop. Snape narrowed his eyes dangerously, looking a single breath away from giving Harry a detention for lying. Sirius wanted to ask a million questions, and complain, and convince Harry that he must have misunderstood the hat, but then he saw the absolutely miserable expression on Harry's face. Sirius pushed all of his feelings on the subject back, snapped his jaw closed, and wrapped a comforting arm around Harry.

"Welcome to the family, kid," he said sympathetically. Harry gave a weak smile in return and Sirius counted it as a win. Put another point in his column for good godparenting.

"Thank you for your honest answer, it would seem you are indeed Harry," Dumbledore concluded. Sirius could understand how that would be a good question to determine his identity. Harry was unlikely to have shared that little detail with anyone other than the Headmaster, probably not even his closest friends. An imposter playing Harry would most likely have said 'Gryffindor' considering who Harry was and all he had accomplished.

"Yeah, may I be excused?" Harry asked, brushing them all off. His face was rather similar to the pinched look he'd had before requesting to go lay down earlier after figuring out exactly who his parents were.

"Of course, Harry. I'll see you later," Sirius said, before any of the others could start in on their questions. Harry's peace was more important than their curiosity. He probably shouldn't have brought him in for the big reveal. One point to the bad godfather column, then. Harry nodded at them once before making a hasty retreat.

The table was silent for a moment, deep in thought, before Dumbledore let loose a sigh.

"If you could tell the tale a little more thoroughly, Sirius, it would be much appreciated," Dumbledore requested.

"This morning Remus and I received a letter from Harry. It was panicked, practically begging for help, so we went to go help him." Sirius made his voice rather firm on this point. He did not, and would not regret his actions here. He had done what he felt was best for Harry and the rest could go hang.

"Of course, it must be so beneath you to send a message to the guard on duty to handle a situation they were placed there for. You simply must be an idiotic Gryffindor and rush into it yourself, despite everyone imploring you to stay here," Snape bit out. Some of the harshness was missing from his voice, however. He seemed almost… distracted

"He didn't ask for some stranger to come in and freak him out. He asked for help from his godfather," Sirius snapped back.

"And we wouldn't want Prince Potter to get something less than he asked for, would we?"

"Listen here, you greasy—"

"I would appreciate it if this fight could wait until the tale is finished," Dumbledore interjected, using his best 'Professor' voice, the one that made Sirius feel like he was fifteen and had just enchanted the suits of armor to recite dirty limericks. Again. "Sirius, you were explaining today's events."

"Right. Anyway, when we got there Harry had locked himself in his room. He was hiding from those awful Muggles you got him living with. Said they'd react poorly if they saw him like that." Sirius struggled with himself for a moment. Was now the time to bring the abuse up? Or should he shelve it, and tackle it later after this whole Romulus mess was sorted out. On the plus side, Harry wouldn't have to return to those nasty buggers until next summer at the earliest, so he had time to raise a little hell on the subject. Later, then.

"We gathered up all of his stuff, there wasn't anything we could do for him in Surrey, and we brought him here. We still really weren't sure why he looked like that. Remus had so thoughtfully accused me of having an illegitimate son and then hiding him with the Potter's to dodge responsibility." Here, Sirius gave Moony a hard look, and got a sheepish smile in return. "It was Kreacher who really tipped us off. As soon as he saw Harry he started calling him Master Romulus. After that, I went to check the family tree for a Romulus, it's self-updating you see, and he was there: son of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. The Tapestry had him designated as the Heir to the House of Black. A little while ago I had the proper work filed to make Harry my Heir. So if Romulus was my Heir and Harry was my Heir, then Harry was Romulus."

"How'd he take all of that?" Dumbledore asked with a thoughtful expression tinged with a bit of sadness covering his face.

"Better than expected, but that might just be the shock. If he wakes up tomorrow and starts throwing things, don't be surprised."

"Oh, the poor dear," Molly sniffed, looking absolutely heartbroken on Harry's behalf. Sirius could understand the sentiment well.

"Yes, well, as interesting as all this is, I fail to see why my presence was required. Wouldn't it have been more prudent to inform Minerva if a teacher was to be informed at all?" Snape questioned.

"That actually brings me to my next point. Remus and I are pretty sure that Lily placed the Glamour on Harry all those years ago, and it's just now failing due to time. It must have been incredibly tricky and complicated, and I doubt anyone could replicate the effects. Sorry, Headmaster," Sirius shrugged. The Headmaster was a great Wizard but the Glamour was unprecedented. In time, Albus could probably figure it out, but that was time they didn't have, Hogwarts would start in a month.

"Not at all, Sirius. I believe you are quite right. I've never seen a Glamour that grows and changes along with it's subject before," Dumbledore admitted, academic curiosity shining in his eyes.

"Anyway, if we send Harry back to school as Harry Potter, he's going to need more than a normal Glamour to keep his actual identity under wraps. There's a few Dark Glamours that should do the trick though," Sirius admitted his plan, waiting for condemnation from the others. He wasn't disappointed.

"Sirius, you can't just start performing Dark magic on Harry! What if something goes wrong and he's hurt? You're not even a Dark Wizard, what if you make a mistake?" Molly fretted. Her concerns were legitimate, so Sirius chose not to feel insulted by her disregard for how he'd never do anything to endanger Harry.

"I have to agree with Molly, it's risky, maybe too risky. We can come up with another solution, surely," Arthur agreed, looking anxious on Harry's behalf.

"Hmph. Do try to use your eyes every once in a while. Black is about as much of a Light Wizard as you are a Dark one," Snape threw in.

"I've never seen him use Dark magic before and he's a part of the Order. Why would he be if he was a Dark Wizard?" Molly defended herself.

"I have no idea why a Dark Wizard would join the Order. None at all. Truly," Snape drawled, looking unimpressed. Molly flushed, remembering that Snape was a Dark Wizard himself just a moment too late.

"I hate to say it, but he's right. I'm naturally Dark inclined. I just choose to use Light magic for the most part. I could even conjure a Patronus before Azkaban," Sirius admitted. The Patronus was a strong Light magic spell and rather difficult for naturally Dark Wizards. Sirius had been incredibly proud of his ability to produce one back in the day. He hadn't been able to drudge up the necessary emotions since his captivity, but it was a goal of his to heal enough to produce one again. It would take time though, and the rather… mentally unstable nature of the Black Family was working against him.

"I should be able to cast a Dark Glamour to give Harry back his old appearance after a bit of practice. It wouldn't change with him, however, so he'll have to be careful about injuries and things of that nature, because he won't be able to see them. Snape is here because he'll be around Harry at Hogwarts, and I figured he'd recognize the signs of the Glamour over time, being more well-versed in Dark magic than most of the Order," Sirius further explained. Snape nodded his agreement once in an almost cordial gesture. As he should, Sirius had almost complimented him there.

"I believe Sirius may be right," Dumbledore intoned to the still upset Weasley parents. "There are very few ways to disguise one's self indefinitely. The truth always seems to rise to the surface eventually. Magic is funny like that," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Of course, there are always options to consider. Tell me, Sirius, did Harry seem at all interested in not being Harry Potter anymore?"

Sirius took a moment to fully ponder the question, but it was Remus who spoke up with an answer.

"It's not being Harry Potter that makes him hesitate so much as living a lie from what I can divine," Remus explained. "We told him we'd give him time to think while we look for the spell, but he's telling his friends and I think that might reassure him enough, knowing he won't have to lie to them, that he'll decide to continue being Harry Potter."

"I only ask because there might come a time where it will be safer for Harry Potter to disappear for a while," Dumledore explained. Sirius didn't like the sound of that.

"You think he'd be safer as the son of two notorious Death Eaters?" Sirius asked disbelievingly.

"I think a fellow Death Eater would hesitate for a long moment before harming one hair on the head of Bellatrix Lestrange's only child," Dumbledore replied gravely. Sirius winced, clearly imagining his cousin's wrath.

"Good point."

"I think we are forgetting another person who may see through this grand deception," Snape interjected. "What about Moody?"

"We considered telling him," Remus spoke up again. "But he really won't spend that much time around Harry, not nearly as much as you and Dumbledore, and his eye doesn't see through Glamours well, especially complicated or rare ones. If they ever spend a significant amount of time together, I'm sure Moody will catch the signs of a Dark Glamour, but I don't see that situation arising."

"If it does, we'll tell him, but it might be better for everyone involved if this stays between as few people as possible," Sirius mused. "I owe Nymph an explanation, but she is family, so I think Harry will agree to let her in on it."

"Ah, that answer's a question of mine, then. I was wondering how Harry managed to disappear from Privet Drive with the Order none the wiser," Dumbledore mentioned with an amused smile on his face.

"Please don't get mad at Tonks, it wasn't her idea, and we promised her Harry would be safe, she didn't just let us walk," Remus jumped in quickly to protect the Metamorphmagus.

"Don't worry, Remus. The question was pure curiosity. Miss Tonks will not be punished for her dedication to family," Dumbledore replied with a secret smile. Sirius wondered if Dumbledore saw what he did between Moony and Nymph. Probably. Neither of the two were the best with discretion, especially when it came to their feelings.

"If you'll all excuse me, I have other things to do than discuss the Order's inability to keep track of one troublesome child," Snape declared as he stood up. Sirius noticed how tense Snape was, and his left fist clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. A summons it would seem.

Snape made his way to the Floo before pausing for a moment. He seemed to be fighting some sort of internal battle before he turned back to Sirius with a nonchalant air. "If your library proves insufficient to the task I have access to books that may cover the gap."

"Thank you, Severus. We will let you know if your assistance is required," Remus relied.

Snape nodded once and turned with a flare of heavy black robes before finishing his journey to the Floo. Sirius turned to Remus in surprise.

"Moony, did Snape just offer to _help?_ "

"I believe so, Padfoot. Yes."

"I'll be damned."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Hey! Sorry there was so much review from the previous chapters in this one, but now that everyone is up to speed, things can start happening. Solutions, research, emotional confrontations, all the good stuff. I hope Dumbledore came off well. I know it seems bad because Harry and Sirius are both irritated with him at the moment, but he is not in any way the enemy. Point of view is the great obstacle of characterization. Oh, by the way, if you were wondering what Bill and Charlie were discussing about the Lestrange vault; yes, it was dragon related. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_


	6. A Locket for Your Thoughts

Harry went to bed late that night, not being nearly tired enough considering he'd slept half the day away thanks to elf magic. He slipped into the pajamas Kreacher had set out for him, resigned to the house-elf's interference, and then chucked himself onto the cushy mattress.

While Harry had been explaining himself to an entire house of curious witches and wizards, Kreacher had more fully moved him in. One of Regulus' shelves was cleared off and filled with Harry's books. A broom stand in the corner now displayed Harry's Firebolt proudly. His parchment, ink, and quills were lined up neatly on the room's desk, next to a framed picture of a Slytherin Quidditch team. Harry noticed one player in particular, the Seeker, resembled Sirius quite a bit. That must be Regulus Arcturus Black.

Harry had personally removed the pro Death Eaters collage. Kreacher had protested at that point, but Harry had quite plainly stated that he wouldn't stay in the same room as it. He'd made for his trunk as if to repack and move to a different room, implying he was going to stay with Ron, and Kreacher had stopped complaining immediately. Kreacher had instead disappeared into the attic for a few minutes and returned with a framed photograph that he hung where the collage had once been to cover the shadow on the wallpaper.

Harry had stared at the photo for a very long time. It depicted three young women, all in the Slytherin version of the Hogwarts uniform. Standing dead center, the tallest of the trio, was Bellatrix. Her dark curls framed her face, which was smirking at the camera and giving a saucy wink.

The girl to her left, perhaps two years younger or so, looked a lot like Bellatrix. They had similar facial features, although the girl Harry didn't recognize had eyes that lacked the heavy quality Harry shared with his mother. Their hair was similarly curly, but the other girl's was more of a mousy brown than deep black. She was rolling her eyes good-naturedly at Bellatrix's antics, a small grin curling her lips.

On Bellatrix's other side stood an even younger girl, looking no older than twelve where Bellatrix must have been sixteen or seventeen. She was as fair as Bellatrix was dark with light blonde hair and blue eyes. The young girl was giggling at both of the others. Harry recognized a younger Narcissa Malfoy from their meeting at the Quidditch World Cup last summer. If that was Narcissa, then the third girl must be Harry's other aunt that Sirius mentioned; the disowned one: Andromeda.

Seeing the sisters so happy, Harry couldn't help but wonder what life would be like in a world without Voldemort. Would Andromeda have been disowned? Would Harry have been raised amongst family? Cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents? Would he and Draco have gotten along raised as cousins? How would the Blacks celebrate Christmas or birthdays? Would he have ended up with the Potter's anyway in some strange quirk of fate or would he know what it means to be a Black and a Lestrange? Would Rodolphus have taught him to ride a broom? Brew a potion? Would Bellatrix have read him stories before bed when he was little? Or taught him how to duel, seeing as that seemed to be more her speed?

Harry turned away from the photo and the thoughts it provoked abruptly. There was no point journeying down the road of countless what-ifs. That way lays madness. He could only do the best with what he had: good friends, a dedicated godfather, and a highly intrusive house-elf.

Harry went to bed with thoughts of missed opportunities on the mind. He fully expected the mental upheaval to cause nightmares, and he wasn't disappointed.

He was twelve years old and running from a basilisk. He was thirteen and about to lose his soul and his godfather to dementors. He was fourteen and Cedric Diggory was collapsing to the cold hard dirt of a graveyard. Then, the dream seemed to shift. He was angry, horrendously so. The guard had more backbone than first anticipated.

"Tell me! Tell me what I want to know! When does the guard ssshhift change?" he hissed to the prone form heaving on the ground. A middle-aged man in torn clothes, a black guards outfit of some sort, was bleeding across white marble.

"Go to hell," he rasped defiantly. Harry's rage peaked.

"Crucio!"

The figure thrashed horrendously, screaming, sobbing, and chocking from the pain.

"My patience is wearing thin. If your suffering isn't enough to stir an answer from you, perhaps hers will," Harry waved a bone white hand to a side door, and it swung open to admit a large masked figure carrying a screaming little girl no older than seven.

"No! Sarah!" the man on the floor cried, turning sluggishly onto his stomach to try and crawl to the little girl.

"Daddy!" she screamed, reaching for the injured man.

"You will tell me of the guard shift, or I will make Sarah suffer ten times what you have already. You'll watch as I kill your little girl," Harry said cruelly.

"Alright! Alright! I'll tell you! Just don't hurt her," the man begged. Harry could feel satisfaction curl in the pit of his stomach.

"Very good. Lord Voldemort knew you'd see things his way after a bit of… persuasion. Of course, you mustn't doubt my conviction either. "

A yew wand waved almost lazily and a sharp cracking sound echoed through the room. It was deathly silent for a moment before the girl started _wailing_. She was clutching her arm and screaming her pain for all to hear. Tears and snot tracked down a terrified face. The man on the floor was screaming as well, begging for mercy, for his daughter's safety. The white hand gestured the robed figure—Death Eater—away, and he dragged the sobbing girl from her trembling father.

"Now, you're going to map out every name of every human guard at Azkaban, all of their patrol shifts, and that of the dementors or I'll drag her right back in here. Start talking."

Harry's eyes flew open as he jack knifed forward out of his nightmare. His breath was heaving and his hands were trembling. That hadn't felt like a normal dream…

Harry almost screamed when he saw two eyes staring at him fixatedly through the darkness.

"Master Romulus be having nightmares. Kreacher will fix that for Young Master." The ancient house-elf shuffled closer to the bed.

"Kreacher. What-?" Harry was cut off as a leathery hand shot to his face, caressing him from temple to jaw. Harry's eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he plunged forward into peaceful blackness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry woke the next morning feeling groggy. He had flashes of dreams echoing through his head. He remembered anger, screaming, and large eyes in the darkness. He shook his head tiredly, and all of his musings faded into obscurity. He really needed to crack open that book he'd owl ordered on dreams. The sooner the better.

He pulled himself free of the bed, stretching as he did so. His muscles felt more relaxed than usual from the soft bed but there was still a nice pop when he turned left and right to stretch his spine.

Another Kreacher-approved outfit was draped over the desk chair, and he pulled it on without much fuss. He even put the robe on, not wanting to have Kreacher force it on him again. Clothing was just going to have to remain a lost battle. Rebellion was pointless.

Once the dragon-hide boots were on, Harry left the room that was rapidly becoming 'his' and headed down to the kitchen. He pushed open the door to find the rest of the house's regular occupants seated around the table with Sirius at the head. Mrs. Weasley was bustling around, apparently putting the final touches on breakfast. Harry had arrived just in time then. Harry took the seat to Sirius' right and offered him a casual good morning.

"Hey, Harry. How'd you sleep?" Sirius asked politely, smiling at his godson.

"Is 'strangely' an acceptable answer?" Harry asked, thinking back on half remembered dreams slipping through his fingers.

"It's as good an answer as any, I suppose," Sirius replied.

"Morning Harry," offered a distracted Remus, who had his nose stuck deeply into he morning edition of the Daily Prophet.

"Morning Remus," Harry offered amusedly. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Oi! Moony! Get your face out of that piece of rubbish and spend some time with people. You can read the comics later," he teased, yanking the Prophet from a disgruntled werewolf.

"Breakfast is ready," Mrs. Weasley called, carrying over plates of toast for the table to share. The toast was followed by sausages, eggs, and bacon. Harry filled up his plate; eternally grateful that he wasn't eating a quarter of a grapefruit with the Dursleys at the moment.

"Harry, dear, make sure you eat seconds. You're looking thin again," Mrs. Weasley advised as she sat down to eat with everyone once all the food was on the table. Harry highly appreciated her treating him as she normally would, despite the revelations of yesterday.

"Alright, everyone, eat up. We're going to start deep cleaning some of the lesser used rooms in the house today and your going to need your strength. Sirius opened the drawing room, so we're going to start there. It'll probably take a few days, so we must get started," Molly instructed.

There were groans echoing around the room but Harry kept silent. He'd been doing chores all summer; this was nothing new. In fact, it was better because he wouldn't be alone as the only one working and he could spend some time with his friends and godfather. There was still some tension and a bit of resentment to work out with Ron and Hermione, but it wasn't anything that would ruin the whole summer. Harry was pretty sure he was one angry tirade away from forgiving them completely; he just had to make sure they _understood_ why he was mad in the first place.

Harry made it half way through a second plate before he decided that he couldn't possibly eat anymore of Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking, not because he didn't want to, but because he physically couldn't after short rations at the Dursley's. The woman somehow made food as simple as eggs and bacon heavenly. She had a true gift.

Harry and Hermione were quick to volunteer to help clean up, and they all got to watch amusedly as Remus and Sirius wrestled over Remus' copy of the Daily Prophet. Remus won and retreated from the room to finish his paper in peace while Sirius pouted. The remaining occupants of the kitchen were about to head up to the drawing room when the Floo flared and a pink haired witch who looked strangely familiar came tumbling out. Harry sympathized immensely, he couldn't exit a Floo properly either.

"Nymph!" Sirius cried excitedly as the witch pulled herself to her feet.

"Sirius, we just had a discussion about that nickname," Nymph grumbled back, her hair turning a bright red to Harry's surprise before fading back to pink.

"Tonks then. What are you doing here?" he asked as she went to take a seat at the table.

"What do you think I'm here for? You owe me an explanation," she said.

"Oh, right. Harry, there's one more person I think we need to let in on all of this," he waved his hand around airily to signify 'all of this.'

Harry nodded his assent, feeling confused. Harry trusted Sirius but why did they need to let this witch know?

"Nymph, meet Romulus Lestrange, also known as Harry Potter. Harry, this is your cousin, Nymphadora Tonks: Andromeda's daughter."

Nymphadora's jaw dropped in shock. She was looking between Harry and Sirius as if she was waiting for the punch line to a particularly clever joke.

"Sirus, you can't be… but… really?" she asked.

"Really. It's a long, complicated story, which I'll tell you later, but the important part is Harry's your cousin, and you're not in trouble with Dumbledore. Remus made sure of that." Sirius raised a suggestive eyebrow, which confused Harry immensely, but he chose to let it go.

"Well, welcome to the family Harry! I'm your cool Auror cousin, Tonks. You will refer to me as Tonks, or you will suffer," she said, sounding way to cheery for someone issuing threats.

"Okay," Harry replied unsurely.

"Great! You're already my favorite cousin, good on you."

"Oi! What about me? I thought I was your favorite cousin," Sirius asked, sounding wounded and clutching his heart dramatically.

"That was when your only competition was Malfoy," she replied blithely.

"She makes a good point, Sirius," Harry interjected. He and Tonks shared a smile as Sirius started spluttering. He liked this family thing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry joined the raid on doxy-infected curtains while Sirius explained the whole sordid tale in more depth to Tonks. Armed with a bottle of doxycide and a handkerchief to cover his nose in mouth, Harry and his friends waged war on the nasty little creatures eating Grimmauld Place. The war was violent and long, but eventually the wizards came out on top, conquering the drawing room curtains like proper heroes.

Harry chose to ignore Fred and George stealing dead doxies and their eggs, believing that it had something to do with their latest prank and unwilling to think more on the subject. He could only hope doxy eggs wouldn't make an appearance in the evening meal.

Once the curtains were secure, the others left the room to take a break, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Ron alone for the first time since his arrival to Headquarters.

"So, Harry, how's your summer been so far?" Ron asked, trying to fill the awkward silence. As if sensing the can of worms he'd unwittingly opened, Ron winced and turned red in embarrassment. Harry sent him his best 'unimpressed' look, which was about three times more effective with his new face.

"It would have been better if my _best friends_ hadn't been keeping secrets from me for a month," Harry replied coolly. He was ready for this argument, wanted to get it off his chest so badly.

"Harry, I know you're upset, but I don't think you're being completely fair to us. Dumbledore said—" Hermione started, but Harry cut her off.

"Oh, so Dumbledore is your best friend now? You care more for his good opinion than you do for my peace of mind, or well being, or _our_ friendship?"

"Harry, don't say that! You know that's not true! We care about you a lot, that's why we didn't send letters with anything important, to protect you!" Hermione cried, willing him to understand. She never did well fighting with her two best friends, Harry knew. She fell to loneliness quickly, haunted by years bereft of close companionship before Hogwarts.

"Protect me from what Hermione? The truth? You could have told me why you couldn't send proper letters; an explanation would have taken you far even if you couldn't tell me anything sensitive. But no. Instead you both showered me with condescending platitudes about not wondering away from the Dursley's like I'm some stupid child who can't take care of himself," Harry was nearly yelling at this point and scowling up a storm. Ron saw fit to jump in at this point.

"Don't yell at her Harry, it's not her fault! We only want to keep you safe, you should trust us as your friends to care about you," Ron said defensively. Harry felt his eyes narrow.

"Trust you? How can I trust you when you're keeping secrets from me?" Harry questioned.

"You haven't exactly been the most open either, Harry. You didn't tell us it was you when you got here yesterday," Ron pointed out.

"Because I was overwhelmed! I didn't even know what was happening at that point. What could I say to you when I had no clue what was going on?" Harry snapped back.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe 'Hey guys, I'm not sure what's going on but it's me, Harry.'"

"Oh, shut up, Ron. Who are you to talk about trust anyway? After this year with the Tournament? Are you sure you would have _believed_ me if I told you I was Harry without explaining how?" Harry questioned viciously. Ron looked as if he'd been slapped.

"I apologized. You said you forgave me," he replied with a frown.

"I did forgive you! But that doesn't mean I forgot what you did, how you threw my trust back in my face. Do you have any idea how that felt? The whole school turned on me again, but unlike in second year, you were right there with them. And then this summer, you were with Hermione and _my godfather_ , who you know I've wanted to live with since third year, giving me bullshite letters while I'm locked away in the Muggle World playing house-elf for the Dursleys!" Harry was panting at this point, fists clenching and unclenching sporadically. Hermione had tears streaming down her face and Ron's jaw was clenched tightly.

"Harry, please don't be angry! We're sorry about the letters, and I know how hard you have it at the Dursley's and it must have been awful considering what happened last year, and what the Prophet has been saying. Please don't shut us out, we just want to help! You're our best friend!" Hermione exclaimed imploringly Harry could practically feel his resolve and anger waver in the face of Hermiones sorrow.

"I know you care about me Hermione. I care about you both a lot too. More than anything. That's why it hurt so much," he said, voice lower and softer than at any point in the argument. It was too much for Hermione. She threw herself at Harry capturing him into a hug and refusing to let go.

"Then it's settled. You care about us and we care about you and we apologize and you forgive us and everything is going to go back to the way it was," she stated demandingly, tears gone in the face of her conviction. Her left arm shot out to grab Ron and forcibly drag him into a group hug.

"We are sorry, mate," Ron clarified, knowing that Harry would appreciate the words. Harry let out a large sigh, which stole the anger and tension from his body.

"And I do forgive, although I'm not sure things will ever be back to the way it was," Harry said anxiously while pulling on a dark curl of Harry. Hermione sniffed primly.

"No, I suppose we'll have to be even closer now to protect your secret," there was a hint of satisfaction in her voice, like she had out smarted them and made their friendship even stronger when they weren't looking. Harry let out a surprised chuckle.

"You may be right Hermione."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The cleaning resumed until lunch, although it hit quite a few snags that required Sirius' help. The curio cabinets in the room were filled to the brim with cursed artifacts that had to be wrapped and stored carefully and separately to be further examined. The fact of the matter is you can't just throw out a cursed object. Certain curses react poorly together and by throwing them out you run the risk of curses intermingling or of innocent people getting there hands on cursed objects. Improper disposal of cursed objects was actually the root of a lot of Arthur Weasley's work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Unsuspecting Muggles got their hands on cursed objects, like a biting tea set or a killer necklace, more often than one would think.

The work was also frequently disturbed by Kreacher, who was trying to smuggle things out before they could be thrown away or packed up for proper disposal. Sirius had to kick him out several times, but he always managed to slither back in to swipe something that isn't his. Harry personally watched Kreacher sneak out with a heavy gold locket, but didn't say anything, remembering his decision not to make an enemy out of Kreacher.

By the time lunch came around, Harry had seen more vials of human blood than he felt comfortable reflecting on. He threw himself into an armchair gracelessly while Ron was sprawled on the ground, and Hermione sat in a different armchair delicately. Ginny had been dragged off to help make lunch, much to her ire, and the twins had snuck off. Harry knew they had a case of sticky fingers almost as bad as Kreacher's, although they had gotten permission from Sirius to take things, they were mostly just hiding from their mother. Harry wasn't sure where Sirius had gone off to, but only Harry, Ron and Hermione remained.

"Harry, I've been thinking," Hermione started, but Ron couldn't help himself.

"That's nothing new," he snorted. Hermione nudged him with her foot.

"As I was saying, I've been thinking that maybe we should do a little research about, well, you," she said looking a little nervous about Harry's reaction. Harry gave her a small reassuring smile.

"Hermione, is there any problem where research isn't your first go to method?" he asked lightly. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"No."

"Just checking. Maybe you've got a point. I really want to know how I ended up with the Potters. I mean, what's the connection? The only link between the Lestranges and the Potters I can think of would be Sirius but he had nothing to do with my… displacement. So how did I end up Harry Potter?" he wondered. Hermione clapped her hands giddily.

"Oh yes! This is going to be so fascinating and there will be answers and _books_. It's like one of our usual adventures, only safer," she espoused.

"Safer and less fun," Ron grumbled. Hermione nudged him again.

Harry wasn't completely sure if this particular adventure was actually safer. Sure there was a very slim chance some research would kill them, or he'd have to fight another basilisk, or face Voldemort, but there was still a certain fragility to the topic. This whole affair made him feel vulnerable and over exposed. Definitely confused. What if they came across something tragic or upsetting in his mysterious background? There was so much going on with him that he wasn't sure if he could take another hit.

"I think I know exactly where to start," Hermione announced while ignoring Ron's comment and standing up from her chair. "The Tapestry should give us a starting point at least and we can go from there." She marched across the room to the Black Family Tapestry that had been more or less ignored while they were cleaning the other side of the room. It was just as it had been when Harry saw it yesterday—burns in some places, doxy bites in others.

Harry stood up and stepped over Ron to follow Hermione to the Tapestry. He had yet to actually inspect the thing himself but now he let his eyes roam over complicated lines of heritage in gold thread. It took several minutes of searching through names, some of which were downright bizarre (who names a child Monoceros?) before Harry's finger landed on Cygnus Black III. Remembering that Sirius had said his grandfather's name was Cygnus, Harry followed the line down to Bellatrix Druella Black, born December 22, 1951 and married to Rodolphus Lestrange, and then on to Romulus Altair Lestrange, born July first, 1980.

"I found me," Harry murmured, grabbing Hermione's attention. Next to his name was a single raven—the patron animal of the House of Black as depicted on their family crest. Harry's eyes drifted over to Sirius' name, which had a trio of ravens by it. So, three ravens for the Lord, one for the Heir? Sirius said the Tapestry told him Romulus was the Heir and the raven was the only feature discerning his name from the hundreds of others on the Tapestry.

"Yeah?" she asked sidling up and following his finger. "You're middle name is Altair? How appropriate for this family," she commented, leaning a bit closer.

Harry understood what she meant. He wasn't the best in their Astronomy class but he paid enough attention to recognize that over half the names on the Black Family Tree were stars or constellations, including Bellatrix, Andromeda, Cygnus, Regulus and Sirius. Harry had a sudden urge to study much harder in Astronomy this year. He justified the urge by remembering he had OWLS coming up, and tried not to contemplate if he was pathetic for studying just to feel closer to a family who didn't know who he was.

"Oh no! Harry!" Hermione cried, causing Harry to flinch and Ron to rocket up into a sitting position on the floor.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, eyes scanning the Tree for something more distressing than usual.

"We missed your birthday," she all but wailed. Harry almost slumped in relief.

"It's fine Hermione, I didn't even know it was my birthday."

"What are you talking about? Harry's birthday is later this week," Ron pointed out, looking highly confused.

"It's actually on the first of July apparently. Odd," Harry muttered. How exactly had his birthday gotten lost in translation? Walburga said Bellatrix lost him at only a few weeks old, maybe July thirty first was the day the Potter's got him?

"Oh, well we'll just celebrate it like normal this year and next year we'll, uh, see how this whole secret identity thing is going," Ron dismissed, easing Hermione's anxiety somewhat. Harry smiled, Ron's more laid back attitude was an excellent counter balance to the ever organized Hermione Granger.

A moment later Mrs. Weasley re-entered with sandwiches piled high on a platter and a still grumbling Ginny, so more research was put off until after food and more cleaning. Everyone broke for the day around five, and Harry wandered back up to 'his' room to grab a blank notebook he had in his trunk. He was going to compile everything he learned about the Lestranges, the Blacks, and the Potters in that notebook, and hopefully he would discover the connection that landed him in the Potter's care. All this organizing and studying was starting to make him feel like Hermione, but maybe that wasn't a bad thing. He needed to know.

He was rifling through the papers on his desk when a familiar crack echoed through the room. Harry turned to see Kreacher fidgeting where he stood; looking more nervous than Harry had ever seen him. The locket Harry had seen him escape with earlier was clenched tightly in his hand.

"Kreacher, is everything okay?" Harry asked the stressed house-elf. Kreacher seemed to dither on the spot for a moment, before his eyes locked on the Quidditch photo on the desk, the one with Regulus. This seemed to steel his resolve because he looked Harry in the eyes.

"Master Romulus, many years ago Master Regulus charged Kreacher to destroy this, but he has failed his Master's last command," Kreacher paused here, and grief seemed to overwhelm his features for a moment. "Master Romulus is a proper Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Kreacher was thinking that Young Master, being a strong and noble Heir, might be able to succeed where Kreacher has failed."

"What did Regulus ask you to do Kreacher?" Harry asked cautiously. There was a curious sense of foreboding invading the room.

"Kreacher be responsible for destroying the locket, but Kreacher has failed."

The house-elf held up a heavy and positively ancient gold locket with a stylized 'S' on the front made out of emeralds.

"So you want me to destroy it? Kreacher, I'm not sure I can. Why don't you ask Sirius?" Harry wondered, still staring at the locket. It was giving him a funny déjà vu feeling. He was equal parts attracted to it, and repulsed by, comforted and weary.

"Kreacher cannot trust Blood Traitor Master for such a vital task. Blood Traitor Master would not take Kreacher seriously." Harry wanted to argue that point, but he knew as well as anyone that the relationship between Kreacher and Sirius was rocky and bitter at the best of times. "But Kreacher knows Miss Bella's son would take Kreacher seriously."

Harry felt a little stab in his heart at that pronouncement. He hadn't expected anyone to trust him _because_ he was Bellatrix's son. He was more prepared for having to gain trust _despite_ being Bellatrix's son.

"Okay, Kreacher, I'll take a look," Harry said, holding out his hand to the house-elf whose face had crumpled in utter joy. There was a brief moment where his instincts told him to take his hand back, but he ignored them. Kreacher was holding the locket and he was fine, so if there was a curse on it, it probably wasn't triggered by skin contact.

Kreacher dropped the locket carefully into Harry's open palm, and his hand dipped with the weight of it. For a long moment nothing happened and Harry was just staring at an ancient piece of jewelry. But then the chain wrapped around his wrist like a coiling snake and everything went… fuzzy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sirius was sitting at the head of the dinner table, waiting for Harry to arrive from his quick sojourn to the room he's staying in: Regulus' old room. Sirius had made it a point to avoid the room since his return to this dratted house. His brother was a large source of tumultuous emotion for him, and he didn't feel quite healed enough o face those emotions head on yet. Maybe when he got his Patronus back he'd be ready…

The kitchen door swung open and Harry entered the room. Almost immediately Sirius could tell something was off. His movements were jerky, his head was canting to the side oddly, and his eyes had a bloodshot almost reddish glow about them. He settled down in the chair to Sirius' right, surveying the room with a slightly confused expression on his face.

"Harry?" he questioned tentatively. There was a pause as bloodshot eyes swung around to stare at him unnervingly.

"…Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

"… Never better."

Sirius had a hard time believing that.

"Are you sure?" Sirius persisted. A spark of annoyance lit in Harry's eyes.

"Yes. I'm fine. How are you?" he deflected. Sirius had never heard less interest in a 'how are you' in his life.

"I was good until you started acting strangely. Tell me, Harry, what was the name of the other creature you rescued the night you saved me from the dementors?" Sirius felt a security question was very proper at the moment.

"Buckbeak. What a foolish question, any moron could know that. Has Azkaban raddled your brains, blood traitor?"

Sirius physically jerked back at the response, and now they had the entire tables attention.

"Harry… what…?" Remus started, seemingly lost for words.

"What's the matter, half-breed? Wolf got your tongue?"

Harry's smile was absolutely demented, and looked very familiar on his sculpted face.

"Harry James Potter! Watch your language! How dare you say such a thing to Remus?" Molly said, but it seemed more reflexive than anything. She was just as bewildered as the rest of the table.

"Or what? You'll pop out another blood traitor sprog to lecture me and drag you further into poverty?"

"Harry, what are you holding?" Hermione demanded out of the blue, as the rest of the Weasleys swelled in righteous indignation. Harry's hand, which had drifted to the tabletop, was gripping a gold locket tightly and stroking a thumb across it repetitively. At Hermione's question Harry jerked it under the table and sent Hermione a baleful glare.

"None of your business, Mudblood," he hissed aggressively. Sirius had had enough. He stood up and whipped out his wand, pointing it at Harry steadily despite the lurch in his chest that told him he should _never_ point it at his godson like this.

"Harry, I think you're under the influence of a curse, set the locket down on the table, let us help you," he implored. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Remus also took out his wand, along with Fred, George, and Molly.

"Oh, I don't think so, _Sirius_ " Harry sneered his name horribly. Sirius didn't let his wand waver. "I don't need your bloody help, and you aren't very keen to give it, are you? In fact, if this whole Glamour thing hadn't happened you would have let me rot with the Muggles all summer, wouldn't you? _Wouldn't you? Tell the truth!"_ Harry's wand was out now and it was pointing directly at Sirius' heart. His eyes were manic and even redder than before; an angry snarl was twisting his lips. Through all this, he continued to stroke the locket that was wrapped securely around his wrist.

"Harry, put the wand down," Remus ordered, his tone louder and more commanding than usual. Harry gazed at him in contempt.

"Move one centimeter, _wolf,_ and you can kiss your _bitch_ good bye." Sirius, even in the middle of a crisis with a wand pointed at his heart and his godson looking more and more mad by the second, could still appreciate the clever viciousness of that particular dog pun.

"Harry stop, please! You don't know what you're doing! If you hurt him you'll never forgive yourself," Hermione cajoled. It had little effect.

"Shut up, Mudblood. No one cares for endless nagging. You give the penniless broodmare over there a run for her money."

It was at that point that Sirius noticed a horrified looking Kreacher entering the kitchen slyly. He was mumbling quietly to himself and Sirius was almost positive there was a tear tracing down his face.

"Harry, put down the locket," Sirius said once more, voice quiet.

"Stop asking me to put down the locket!" Harry shouted. He twisted his wrist and Sirius was preparing for a world of pain when Harry seemed to freeze for a moment, eyes wide in shock, before he collapsed to the ground. Kreacher was standing behind him full on sobbing now while he looked down at Harry's prone form, his arm still out reached from where he'd stunned Harry.

"Kreacher be hurting Master Romulus most grievously. All Kreacher's fault. Kreacher is a bad elf, an unworthy elf. Kreacher must punish himself for giving Young Master the locket."

Sirius was kneeling down beside Harry's prone form while Molly and Remus raced to join him when he finally heard Kreacher's mumbling.

"You did this?" his voice thundered while Molly was casting basic diagnostic charms on Harry and Remus was examining the locket without touching it. The kids were at the table still, staying out of the way but looking shaken.

"Sirius, I can't get the locket off him," Remus muttered distractedly. He jerked his wand like a fishing line and though the locket glowed green for a moment, it didn't budge as it was supposed to.

"His blood pressure is a tad high and the locket is practically strangling his wrist but other than that and being stunned he's physically fine," Molly added, still moving her wand in intricate lines. Molly was not by any means a healer but she was a mother of seven and well versed in all the basics. Sirius trusted her judgment here.

"Kreacher get the bloody necklace off him," Sirius ordered directly. Kreacher nodded quickly and snapped his fingers. The locket didn't move. Kreacher's brow furrowed and he stuck both hands in front of him and then gave a mighty push through the air. That seemed to do the trick as the locket released it's depth grip on Harry's wrist, leaving behind a bloody and bruised wrist, and then went sailing across the room, hitting the wall and coming to rest on the ground where it laid still.

"Don't touch it, " Remus snapped to… just about everyone. He got up and approached it carefully before spelling an excessive amount of cloth to cover the damn thing. "I'll put it in the trunk with the other wrapped, cursed objects." He levitated it off the ground and left the room quickly.

Molly was healing the gouges on Harry's wrist and conjuring wraps to secure her work.

"The poor dear will need to use a bruise paste for a few days but he'll recover just fine," Molly assured. Sirius felt a weight lift off his chest. Harry would be fine. He turned back to Kreacher.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he hissed angrily.

"Kreacher did not know what the locket would do. Kreacher asked Master Romulus to destroy it, but when Master Romulus touched it he is not behaving normal. Master Sirius will destroy the locket?" Kreacher asked, looking oddly hopeful. Sirius speculated that he only wanted it destroyed to assuage his own guilt.

"Of course I'm going to have it disposed of! Get out of my sight Kreacher! I can't look at you! Your lucky you don't have clothes right now!" Sirius barked, so completely sick of the mad house-elf that had seriously endangered Harry just now.

"Kreacher will be punishing himself," he said before disappearing. Sirius didn't bother to tell him not to, no matter how agitated it would make Hermione.

"I'll put him to bed, Molly," Sirius offered. Molly hesitated a moment before spying the distraught looks on the other kids faces. There was some damage control to do.

"Alright, I'll finish supper, then." Molly planted a swift kiss on Harry's forehead before standing up to heard the others back to their seats.

"He's okay right?" Ron asked apprehensively, eyes glued on Harry's prone form.

"He'll be just fine," Molly assured. "Just a bad go of it with a cursed object, that's all."

"Things sure got exciting around here when Harry arrived," commented Fred. George nodded fervently.

"Yup. That's our little Harrikins; spreading adventure and chaos wherever he may go."

Sirius levitated Harry and started carefully maneuvering him through the hallways and up to Regulus' old room. He settled his godson carefully down on the meticulously made bed. Kreacher wouldn't make the bed for literally anyone else in the house except, apparently, Harry. Why go to so much trouble to take care of Harry only to try and curse him with an object? Maybe Kreacher honestly didn't realize what he had done? Sirius wouldn't be surprised, the little monster was mad. Even more so than when Sirius had been a child. Years alone in the house had warped him terribly.

A quick switching spell traded out day clothes for pajamas and Sirius tucked Harry under the covers carefully before taking the chair next to him. He'd be there when Harry woke up; the poor kid would probably be horribly confused. A few minutes into the silence had Sirius thinking of Harry's accusations while under the influence of the locket.

 _…if this whole Glamour thing hadn't happened you would have let me rot with the Muggles all summer, wouldn't you?_

Would he? He'd been advocating to have Harry there all summer but he hadn't really _done_ anything until Harry was in serious trouble. Would he have continued to let it slide? A passive observer with occasional complaints just to justify that he tried to his own guilty conscience?

No. They had planned to pick up Harry that very week. It hadn't seemed unreasonable to be patient one more week and give Harry as much protection as possible for the journey. But that didn't quite ring right in his heart either. Sirius had seen the food stash, the locks on the door, the cat flap, the abominable clothes. Harry was clearly being mistreated, probably severely by Lily's muggle relatives. Was there any excuse for leaving Harry in that kind of situation for the summer, especially while he was still grieving from the death of his classmate? Was there any excuse to justify Harry staying with those awful people at all for the past fourteen years?

 _… you would have let me rot with the Muggles…_

Sirius clutched his hair in dismay. There were no good answers, only disappointments. If Sirius wanted to be a good godfather, or even cousin for that matter, to Harry he had to be proactive. He couldn't ever again let there be any doubt in Harry's mind that he was the most important thing to Sirius, even while under the influence of gaudy demon jewelry. Maybe it was time for a field trip…

"Hey, Padfoot, are you okay?" Remus asked from the doorway. Sirius nodded half-heartedly under the weight of his revitalized convictions

"Right as rain, Moony. Or at least I will be when Harry wakes up," he amended. Remus nodded and stepped more fully into the room.

"It was odd to see him like that," Remus murmured quietly. "Especially considering how he looks now. It was all very…" Remus trailed off, not quite having a word for it.

"Bellatrixy?" Sirius offered. Remus nodded firmly.

"Yes. Bellatrixy. You don't think he'd have been like that if she had raised him do you?" Remus asked almost hesitantly. Sirius understood the hesitation; what ifs never did a good thing for anybody.

"I'd like to think that he has a good heart, and that in the end it would have won out over my cousin's particular brand of… parenting. Would have made him right miserable for a while though, fighting against family," Sirius said knowingly. Remus nodded thoughtfully, as if taking his opinion under advisement.

"I could see it. It's not like he was raised by good people any way, and he still managed to be a great kid despite those Dursleys," Remus practically spat the word 'Dursleys.' Sirius nodded his agreement.

"Exactly. Now I just wish this great kid would wake up already."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kreacher was distraught. He'd hurt Master Romulus; given him a locket that had ensnared his mind and nearly got him into a dangerous duel with the blood traitors. Then it had damaged him, bruising and cutting viciously into his wrist. Kreacher was so ashamed. Master Regulus had told him how dangerous that locket was, how it had to be destroyed; and Kreacher not only failed to destroy it, but also hurt the knew Heir in the process.

Kreacher made sure the iron was extra hot before pressing it down onto his foot. Kreacher was a bad elf, bad elves get punished. As Kreacher continued to burn his extremities, he swore that he'd work harder and be the best house-elf Master Romulus could ask for.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _So I played around with the details of the Black family tree/ tapestry. I wanted it to share certain information, so it's not quite how it was in the books or the movie. Also, the effect of the locket on Harry: I'm planning to make the horcruxes (including Harry) much more connected to each other and Voldemort. Therefore, they have a much more concentrated effect on Harry than in the books and the mental connection between Harry and Voldemort is stronger and a bit more damaging. It won't be a huge difference, but it will be enough to set us firmly away from certain aspects of canon eventually. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_


	7. Pictures Worth a Thousand Words

Harry's head was absolutely pounding. There was no other way to describe the ebb of pain that was going on just behind his scar. He'd woken up fuzzily back in his bed which he didn't remember getting into, with a hovering Sirius staring down at him. A couple of questions and answers later, and Harry understood the situation as this: Kreacher had given Harry a cursed locket, Harry had acted like a total bastard to everyone, Kreacher had stunned his bastard self from behind and managed to remove the locket. He didn't really remember much of this, but he took Sirius' word for it.

Harry had only been unconscious for around two hours, so he got redressed quickly and made his way downstairs to assure everyone he was all right and apologize profusely to everyone in the house. He'd started with Mrs. Weasley, giving an apology so heart felt that she yanked him into a smothering hug and assured him that nothing he could say would ever be so horrible that she wouldn't still care for him. Harry had blushed spectacularly at her compassion.

Next had been Hermione. Sirius had informed him that he had dropped the 'M' word a few times with her and he was desperate to correct it. She had waved off his apologies easily, citing that he hadn't really known what he'd been saying, but she appreciated the sentiment anyway. She'd also fretted over his bruised wrist but Harry dismissed her worries. He'd had much worse. Then Harry had made a collective apology to the Weasley kids for having a go at their mother, and they accepted it easily enough.

Harry had rounded off his grand series of apologies with Sirius and Remus, who all but rolled their eyes at him and told him it was fine and to get over it. Harry decided to put it behind him. He'd apologized and there really wasn't more he could do. Except maybe yell at Kreacher the next time he saw him. Otherwise he'd just have to move forward.

Harry enjoyed a late dinner with Sirius and Remus, who wanted to talk.

"Harry, I have an idea. It'll risk serious trouble from people like Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore but it's going to have to get done eventually, so why not the day after tomorrow?" Sirius started, piquing Harry's interest.

"And just what's this idea of yours Sirius?" Harry asked curiously.

"A field trip!" Sirius exclaimed proudly, "So we can get you some of your own clothes for your birthday."

"Clothes shopping? Does that even count as a field trip? It sounds more like running errands," Harry teased, but he could already see the advantages of the trip. He could stop wearing ill-fitting boots for one. The thick socks helped but it was July; his feet were sweating to death.

"Typically, no. But tell me, Harry, have you ever been to France?" Sirius questioned innocently. Harry felt his eyes widen considerably.

"Uh, no. Never been, heard it's nice," Harry said lamely. The truth was, he'd never been anywhere that wasn't a limited amount of Surrey, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade or Kings Cross Station. The Dursleys didn't like taking him on holiday, so they left him behind with Mrs. Figg whenever possible.

"It is. And the best part is no one will recognize us there. Remus and I will probably apply a few Glamours anyway, just to be safe considering I'm a wanted convict and all, but you'll be free to just walk around with out anyone wondering why you look so much like Bellatrix Lestrange. Trust me Harry, if you walk down Diagon Alley with that face there will be questions, and then we'll be up to our eyeballs with distant Black relatives, Malfoy's and Daily Prophet reporters," Sirius warned. Harry cringed just thinking about it.

"I see your point. France it is. Uh, I don't have a passport or anything…" Harry trailed off.

"What's a passport?" Sirius questioned curiously.

"Oh, I guess it's a muggle thing. It's like a little booklet with your identity that you need to enter foreign countries," Harry explained.

"Don't worry, Harry, you don't need a passport in the magical world. You just sign off at the International Floo and Portkey Station and let them inspect your wand. And don't worry about the wand," Remus said gently when he saw Harry was about to interrupt. "This place has plenty of back up and emergency wands floating around. We'll find the one that works best for you and then go from there."

"Okay. Is there anyway for me to stop at Gringotts before we go. I don't think I really have enough gold with me to—" Sirius interrupted him.

"Harry, you're not _paying_ for the clothes, that's my job. Hence it being a birthday present," Sirius said in the most 'duh' voice imaginable.

"Sirius, I can't let you do that, Kreacher burned my whole wardrobe, there's a lot to replace," Harry fretted. Sirius waved him off.

"I don't know if you're aware of this, Harry, but for all the Black family madness, we are actually reasonably good investors. I'm loaded. It's really no big deal to do something as simple as buy you the proper fitting clothes you deserve. And honestly, as my heir, the money is just as much yours as it is mine," Sirius said off handedly. Harry was almost positive it wasn't that straight forward or simple, but he was afraid insisting anymore would make him seem rude or ungrateful.

"Thank you, Sirius. Remus," he said with the utmost sincerity. They beamed back at him.

"No problem, Harry. Just remember, don't tell Molly under any circumstances. Merlin save our souls if you do. You'll find in life that it is much easier to ask for forgiveness than permission," Sirius said with an air of wisdom about him. Remus jabbed him in the side with his elbow.

"Don't tell him that, Padfoot! You're supposed to be a role model," Remus said in exaggerated exasperation. Sirius played along.

"I am! I'm being the perfect role model for a young mischief maker," he declared. Remus rolled his eyes.

"If you were perfect you wouldn't have gotten caught so often," Remus remarked.

"I wouldn't have gotten caught so much if _someone_ learned how to lie to teachers. For keeping that big secret of yours, Moony, you're a terrible liar," Sirius shot back.

"Is that supposed to be an insult? That I didn't lie enough?" Remus asked in disbelief.

"It's not that you didn't lie enough, it's that you weren't good at it!"

Harry couldn't help it; he burst out laughing as their playful fight dissolved into a squabble with petty name-calling. This was so much better than Privet Drive, even with the evil jewelry and mad house-elf.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In times of trouble, Hermione knew there was one place to go to find solutions to her various problems and woes: the library. The library with it's hidden knowledge and the smell of ink and paper blanketing the room. So, when your best friend discovers that he is the son of infamous murderers and torturers, the obvious reaction is to go to the library.

The Black family library at Grimmauld Place, however, was proving to be a monster in it's own right. Everywhere she turned looking for family history, she came face-to-face with a grisly illustration of some rare magical torture or other. Some of them were even animated, to show the entire process, and Hermione found those to be particularly sickening.

Hermione picked up a particularly vivid book called _The Strategic Wizard's Guide to Muggle Hunting_ before shoving it back on the shelf harshly. The Black family had a violent streak wider than the English Channel with a superiority complex to boot. They also seem rather fixated on vengeance considering how many revenge curses she'd come across.

The boys were also on the search for family history. Harry insisted that the portrait of Walburga Black told him there were family memoirs in the library, but they had yet to find them.

"Are you sure she didn't say family grimoires, Harry? Because I've found plenty of those," Ron called across the room. Harry shook his head.

"No, she definitely said memoires. She was instructing me on not going to Sirius for family history. She said look at the memoirs in the library or talk to her directly," Harry replied while inspecting a mysterious stain on a book written in Ancient Greek.

"The memoirs are on the back wall, far right," called a cultured voice Hermione had never heard before. She spun around to find the source of the voice, along with Harry and Ron, but didn't see anyone.

"Up here, you daft children."

Hermione's brown eyes tracked up and locked with painted grey. Above the library's fireplace was a portrait that had until now been empty, depicting a stately looking older gentlemen. His hair was iron grey but still thick, and he wore fancy and complicated navy robes. There was a light scar across his jaw, and he had the same grey eyes that Harry and Sirius shared.

"Oh, hello, Sir. Sorry about that, the frame was empty when we got here," Hermione apologized for not seeing him right away.

"Well I'm not going to stay in here all the time, especially since no one seems to visit the library anymore. Tell me, does anyone in your generation read nowadays?" he asked with a hefty dose of condemnation in his voice. Hermione felt herself blush and drew her shoulders back. Reading was her favorite past time, and _no one_ was going to accuse her of neglecting it.

"Of course, Sir. I decided to read the books I brought with me before coming to the library," Hermione defended herself untruthfully. She had been nervous about coming to the library at all considering all the Dark magic floating around, but needs must.

"And who, exactly, are you?" he asked, eyes narrowed. "There are rumors going around the house that there is a Mudblood in our mist. Would that be you, girl?" he asked, sneer making his facial scar standout. Hermione, just for a moment, flashed back to a similar sneer on Harry's face last night when he was under the influence of the locket, calling her a Mudblood.

"My name is Hermione Granger, and yes, I am a Muggleborn," she stated strongly. She was not ashamed of her heritage.

"Naturally. I'm dead for barely five years and there's already vermin infesting the Black properties," he snarked. Hermione might have been more offended by that if she wasn't consistently referred to as filth by Walburga Black's portrait.

"She's not vermin," Ron bit out angrily. He learned early on that shouting at the portraits usually made them shout back and they had the advantage of not needing to breathe to keep ranting.

"Says you. Let's see; ratty clothes, obnoxiously red hair, and living off the charity of my disappointment of a grandson, Sirius. You must be a Weasley and therefore a blood traitor cluttering my family home," he said snidely. "And who is the third member of your little reading group, hmm?"

The portrait turned to look at Harry, completely ignoring Ron's angry, bright red face. As soon as he looked Harry up and down, however, the disdain seemed to leak from his face, leaving only surprise behind.

"Romulus?" he questioned in disbelief. Harry blinked back at him bemusedly.

"How does everyone know who I am?" he asked in exasperation.

"You look just like your mother, my granddaughter Bellatrix. There's no one else you _could_ be," he replied, still staring at Harry intently. Hermione dearly wished she had a photograph of Bellatrix Lestrange so she could make her own comparison.

"Granddaughter? Who are you exactly?" Harry asked, throwing back the words the portrait had all but spat at Hermione with. The wizard pulled himself up, looking even statelier for his trouble.

"My name is Pollux Black. I'm your great-grandfather. Where have you been, Romulus?" he asks, now completely ignoring Hermione and Ron. Harry seemed to dither on the spot, unsure of how to respond.

"I've been staying in Regulus' room, there aren't any portraits on the top floor so I'm not surprised you didn't know," he relays casually. Hermione isn't the only one who caught his deliberate misinterpretation of the question.

"Nice try, Grandson, but I've been dealing with Slytherins and politicians my entire life. You'll have to do better than that," Pollux taunted, although Hermione could detect fondness in his smirk now, like he was humoring a favored child who wanted to prove he could be an adult.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Sir," Harry replied blithely. His tone reminded Hermione of Potions classes where Snape would accuse Harry of various crimes, and he'd deny them easily, even if Snape were right.

"That's right. Deny, deny, deny. We'll make a proper Black out of you yet."

Hermione noticed Harry's subtle flinch at the comment. It would seem her friend was wary of being considered a 'proper Black.' Not that Hermione could blame him, of course. Who would want to be part of a family that pledged allegiance to a psychotic Dark Lord?

"Perhaps, Sir. You said the family memoirs were on the back wall. Are they organized in any way? I think I want to start with some of the more recent ones."

"The oldest ones are on the higher shelves, the newer ones are on the lower shelves. Do try to be more subtle the next time you forcibly change the topic, there's no advantage to manipulating a conversation if the other party knows they are being manipulated," Pollux lectured.

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you for your help," Harry said in forced politeness before turning on his heal and heading to the back of the library. Hermione and Ron rushed to catch up.

"You're welcome, Grandson. Be sure to come back in here soon, or I'll find you. We have a conversation to finish," the portrait called out to Harry. Harry pretended not to hear and didn't respond.

When they reached the back shelves, Harry ripped a few leather bound volumes off the bottom shelf, handed a few to Hermione and Ron forcefully, and all but fled the library. Hermione and Ron shared a concerned glance before following him back to Ron's room.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," Harry said as soon as Hermione stepped into the room. Hermione blinked in surprise.

"Whatever for, Harry?" she asked in confusion. Harry had already apologized for the incident last night and there really wasn't anything else she could think of that he would need to be sorry for.

"For not defending you to my… family. The portraits and Kreacher keep saying all these horrible things and using _that word_ , and I'm not defending you like I should, like a good friend would," he babbled to a flabbergasted Hermione.

"I don't need you to defend me, Harry, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself," Hermione stated reasonably. Harry shook his head.

"That's not the point though. You shouldn't have to defend yourself constantly against people I'm related to. Whenever I want to say something, correct them, yell at them for being awful, it's like I can't and you deserve a better friend then that. You both do." Harry was getting increasingly upset, especially with himself, and Hermione was starting to see the problem here.

"Harry, I get it. They're your family and you want them to like you. It's completely normal considering your circumstances," Hermione said patiently. How could she expect an orphan raised in a loveless house to openly take her side against that of his newly discovered family? The family he thought he'd never have, even if they were just portraits?

"Yeah, but them being family doesn't make them good people, and it doesn't make me a good person for backing down from arguing with them."

"Harry, is this about last night? Because you should know that no one blames you and we still think you're a good person," Hermione reassured.

"It's not just that. I'm worried that I'm… changing."

"We know why you look the way you do, mate, there's really no need to worry about it. I'm sure Sirius will find that Glamour he's looking for," Ron responded optimistically, trying to assuage Harry's worry. Harry was already shaking his head in denial though.

"That's not what I mean. It's just… I… I get angry all the time lately, over the stupidest things. And not just frustration, but rage for no reason. What if… what if the Potter's did something other than just change my appearance? What if they changed my personality too, made me more like them, and now it's fading like the Glamour? What if I'm going mad, like the Lestranges?" Harry whispered, looking more afraid than Hermione can ever remember him being. Hermione immediately shoved the journals in her hands into Ron's arms and walked over to Harry, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking straight into his cloudy grey eyes.

"Harry, I've never heard of any magic that can influence a personality for so long. You're not going mad, you're upset. Frankly, after everything that's happened in the last year, it would be more worrying if you weren't a little angry. It's not like you actually agree with what they're saying, you're just avoiding a confrontation with your family. No one blames you, Harry. You're still the same boy who helped rescue me from a troll. Your parents don't matter," Hermione claimed passionately. Harry was her friend; she wouldn't lose him to Voldemort or his own self-doubt.

They stood face to face for a moment, and an odd sensation bloomed in the front of Hermione's head as her rant replayed over in her mind clearly without provocation. Harry must have felt it too, because he jerked back and blinked rapidly a few times, looking slightly dazed. He shook it off quicker than Hermione, who filed the incident away in her mind to think about later, and Harry seemed to consider her words for a minute. He opened his mouth a few times as if to argue, but ultimately closed it and went back to thinking. Eventually he shrugged his shoulders and gave her an odd little smile.

"Thank you, Hermione. I, uh, needed to hear that," he said with a slight blush. Hermione pulled him forward into a hug.

"What are friends for?" she said, smiling warmly. "Now, I do believe we have some journals to look through," she said, causing Ron to groan.

"I can't believe we are voluntarily studying extra stuff. I mean, I haven't even started my summer homework yet!" Ron exclaimed, tossing the journals onto the extra bed in the room that was originally supposed to be Harry's. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean you haven't started your summer homework? July is almost over, you've had plenty of time," Hermione lectured shrilly, comfortably falling back on an old conversation between the trio.

"Hey, I've been busy! I had to move from the Burrow and clean up this house and… stuff," Ron defended himself weakly.

"Oh please, I've been here too, you know. I've seen hours of the 'stuff' you've been up to: chess, eating, Quidditch magazines—need I go on?"

"I've still got a month to do it. I don't know why you're so upset," Ron replied, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Because, Ronald, I know you. You'll put it off until the last minute, and then expect me to help you. Harry, you've started the homework, right?" Hermione asked hopefully. Harry raised his hands in surrender.

"In my defense," Harry started, shattering Hermione's hope, "My books were locked up away from me. But I promise, when I leave it to the last minute, I'll beg Remus for help instead of you."

Ron snickered and Hermione let her face fall into her hands with an exaggerated moan of disappointment.

"Why do I bother?" she asked no one in particular.

"Because you've never given up hope that one day your study habits will rub off on us," Ron answered helpfully. Hermione shoved him in the shoulder.

"Well, now that Hermione is disappointed in us, let's do this," Harry declared, snatching a leather bound book off the bed and flopping down into a wooden chair at the foot of Ron's bed. Hermione idly noticed that the move was much more graceful in his new body than Harry's usually awkward flops into furniture.

Hermione headed over to the bed and carefully selected a journal. It was bound in rigid, light green leather that smelled faintly of campfires and brimstone—dragon hide? Hermione cracked it open, enjoying the scent of old parchment. In the top right corner, written in beautiful script, were the words _Cassiopeia Virgo Black_. The next page, written in the same striking calligraphy, was the date _March 3_ _rd_ _, 1932_ , and the beginning of the journal's very first entry.

 _Today I, Cassiopeia Virgo Black, reached my Majority. I am now considered an adult by all standards and as such I received this journal, as all Blacks do on their seventeenth birthday, to tell of my accomplishments in life, and contribute my own story to the glorious history of the Black family._

 _Seeing as today is such a monumental day, I've finally come to a decision: the first major one of my adult life. I am going to talk to my father, and get him to break the betrothal contract between Alexander Nott and myself. I know myself, and I know I'll never be happy in a life of domestic idleness. I am an innovator of spells and a scholar of magic, I have no need or desire to marry and have children. I'm hopeful my father will agree, seeing as he's currently in a bitter fight with Lord Nott over a new bill that was recently presented in the Wizengamot._

Hermione could feel herself getting sucked up quickly into the life of Cassiopeia Black when Ron interrupted.

"Whose journals did you guys pick up? Mine is by a guy named Orion Black."

"I picked up the one by Cassiopeia Black," Hermione interjected once she tore her eyes away from the page. "How about you, Harry?"

"Regulus Black… Sirius' younger brother," Harry murmured, looking a little pale.

"Hey, isn't that whose room you're staying in? I didn't know Sirius had a brother, I thought he might be a cousin or something," Ron said looking intrigued.

"Sirius has never brought it up. I should have looked closer at the family tree," Harry mumbled, still examining the journal in his hands carefully.

"I wonder where he is?" Ron continued, still thoughtful.

"Dead, I think. Kreacher mentioned something about it," Harry said vaguely.

"Hmm, I wonder how he died. He had that super creepy collage. Think he became a Death Eater? Maybe an Auror killed him," Ron mused. Hermione could see a tinge of frustration creeping across Harry's face.

"I don't know, Ron. How'd Orion die?" Harry deflected.

"How am I supposed to know? I only read the first—oh." Ron stopped short, finally understanding Harry's implication. "Good point."

Saying no more, Harry turned back to Regulus' journal, so Hermione returned to Cassiopeia's.

 _I've already begun the arithmancy necessary in my next spell creation: The Nail Splitting Curse. I have high hopes that it shall work out, and I can add it to my collection of minor torture curses. The goal is, of course, to keep it just legal enough that I might one day publish my findings._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry stared down at Regulus' journal as it sat in his hands. It was significantly thinner than some of the others—the one's owned by the long-lived Blacks—but certainly not the thinnest. Regulus was both verbose, and apparently a talented sketch artist. Every few pages a drawing would show up in carefully regulated coal.

Harry was currently staring down at a page in the middle of the journal. He'd skipped around a bit, fascinated by the various drawings among the beautiful yet masculine script. The page he was looking at right now depicted a young, carefree Sirius from the shoulders up. A brilliant smile adorned his handsome features, and he looked out of the page with blazing confidence. A small inscription lay at the bottom of the page: _A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity_.

Harry found something incredibly sad about the inscription and the picture. Had the Black brothers been rivals? Adversaries? It would make sense in a way—Sirius was a disowned disappointment to his family, and Kreacher had made sure Harry was aware that Regulus had been a 'proper' Black. It had to be more complicated than that though. The drawing was meticulous in detail; one could infer that it was lovingly created by its sheer accuracy and attention to the finer and subtler points of Sirius' visage. They must have loved each other at some point. What came between them? Was it Sirius' rebellion or perhaps Regulus' apparent fixation with Voldemort?

Harry almost couldn't stop himself from grinding his teeth together. Of course. It always came down to Voldemort, didn't it? He destroyed the Blacks as thoroughly as he destroyed the Potters it would seem; maybe even more so considering how the Blacks turned on each other so bitterly. Harry felt that new rage flare up in his chest and he seethed silently. He wanted Voldemort to pay for what he did, to suffer, to _scream_ … Harry shook off those thoughts quickly, letting his hatred cool. He shouldn't think such horrid things; he would be no better than Voldemort if he did.

Harry idly flipped through the pages for a distraction, coming to rest on another charcoal drawing. This one depicted an older looking woman in classic witch attire. She even had a pointed hat and buckled shoes that curled at the toe. Her stern expression reminded Harry a little of Professor McGonagall. The bottom of the page read _Cassiopeia Black._

Harry inspected the picture, wondering why Regulus would place it in his journal. He was starting to get the feeling that he would have to actually read the journal for context on the pictures. Harry flipped a few more pages to look at one more sketch before starting from the beginning.

A man with dark hair brushing his shoulders and a square jaw stared out intensely from the last sketch. His features had a rigid straightness that made Harry think his face was carved from stone. There was a light smirk on his lips and a single thick eyebrow was lifted in amusement. Harry supposed he was attractive, in a stiff, masculine way. The words at the bottom of the page almost made his heart stop. _Rodolphus Lestrange._

This was his father. His memories from the Pensieve had been less than reliable and far from detailed considering he had been more focused on Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Jr. at the time as they had been much more vocal than the stoic Lestrange brothers. Harry searched the page for similarities to his own face. Romulus Lestrange seemed to take mostly after his mother in looks, but there were still elements of Rodolphus in him, a square jaw and wide shoulders being the most obvious features.

Harry didn't think the man in the picture looked like a murderer. There was a little arrogance in the tilt of his head and his superior smirk, but nothing even close to the madness it must take to torture another human until they shatter. There was a similar absence of madness in the photograph of the three sisters in Regulus' room.

How had two sane, if privileged, people descended to such lows? Was Voldemort the key? The instigator of madness and chaos? Harry doubted that even Voldemort's considerable power and influence could completely rewrite a person. Whatever was in the Lestrange couple that allowed them to commit such awful acts must have been there all along. Was it in him? Was he a ticking time bomb, set to explode in a homicidal rage at any moment?

For the first time in a long time, Harry thought back to his adventure in the Chamber of Secrets. He thought of a young Tom Riddle, a demon with the face of an angel, comparing them, cataloguing their similarities. Harry wondered if they were more or less alike now than they had been that day.

Harry was no longer a half-blood, or an orphan like Tom Riddle had been. But he now came from a Dark family with a Slytherin legacy, and he was still raised by muggles like Riddle, and Riddle hadn't been a true orphan anyway—his father had been alive for most of his childhood, he simply didn't want a witch's son.

Harry was angrier than he had been at twelve, maybe not like the hate he saw in Riddle's eyes, but much closer than he had been. He was still a Parselmouth, still a Slytherin by the Sorting Hat's opinion if not his own choice. He even thought they looked more alike now than they had when Riddle had suggested the similarity when he was Glamoured. His curls were closer to Riddle's waves, if not nearly as neat, his face was sharper and more aristocratic like Riddle's had been, and now his glasses were no longer obscuring his face and thusly eliminated one more difference.

"From what I can gather, all the Black's are gifted with a journal at seventeen," Hermione announced, shattering Harry from his maudlin thoughts. Harry suddenly felt a little immature for getting sidetracked by pictures while Hermione was actually gathering information.

"Do you think Sirius has one?" Harry asked curiously. Would he write in it if he did, or spurn it as a hated family tradition? He had run away before turning seventeen, so it was possible he'd never received one.

"I don't know. Maybe you should ask him. He probably knows tons about the Blacks, it would be easier to talk to him than read through all these journals. Not that you shouldn't do that too, of course," Hermione added. Let it never be said that Hermione would miss an opportunity to advocate for extra reading.

"I thought about it, but his family is kind of a sore subject for him. I don't want to upset him with questions if I can get the information from another source," Harry admitted. Harry had noticed that Sirius was still a bit… ragged around the edges, even if he wasn't nearly as bad as when he'd first escaped Azkaban.

"There's always the portraits. They seem pretty eager to talk to you," Hermione said neutrally. Harry grimaced at the idea. "Or you could try talking to Kreacher."

"No way! Don't ask that barmy house-elf a damn thing! Not unless you want another creepy locket incident," Ron broke in with a stubborn expression on his face. Harry was inclined to agree with him.

"Ron, I'm sure Kreacher didn't mean it. He looked really upset about what happened to Harry, he probably just didn't know what the locket would do. And I told you to stop calling him 'barmy,' he's just old and sick," Hermione retorted adamantly. Harry could sense another S.P.E.W. argument coming on.

"Hermione, I get that you care about house-elves, but Kreacher isn't like Dobby or the other Hogwarts elves or even Winky. He's a mean little bugger that insults everyone in the house—including you—and gave Harry a cursed locket that turned him into an arse. No offence, Harry," Ron added sheepishly.

"None taken," Harry murmured back, completely accepting of Ron's ineloquent assessment.

"He just doesn't know any better," Hermione countered. "He's always worked for the Blacks, he probably never learned how to be decent! Oh, no offence, Harry," Hermione said, blushing a bit at the end.

"None taken," Harry repeated, a little amused. If someone apologized to him every time they insulted the Blacks in this house, he'd spend hours a day being apologized to, mostly by Sirius in all likelihood.

"That doesn't mean Harry should actually seek him out! If anything, it just proves he's mad if he never learned not to be," Ron countered well. Harry was pretty sure Ron was winning the argument, which didn't happen too often when arguing with Hermione. Harry was kind of proud of him in a bemused way.

"But you shouldn't call him barmy regardless," Hermione said stubbornly. She proceeded to snatch up Cassiopeia's journal and adamantly continue to read, ignoring both her friends in a huff. Ron looked at Harry with wide eyes.

He mouthed 'did I just win?' to Harry, who shrugged, not entirely sure.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bellatrix Lestrange was dreaming. It was a common dream of hers, one of her happiest and more of a fantasy—well developed by years of monotony trapped in a small cell with only her thoughts for occupation.

She was standing at the top of the marble staircase in Lestrange Manor, looking down at the foyer. A ball was being held, and she was dressed exquisitely in shining silver robes made only of the best fabrics gold could buy. The cut was unique, having shorter sleeves to reveal her forearms, the left of which proudly displayed the Dark Mark.

She made her way down the staircase, passing nameless, faceless people as she went who all tilted their heads in differential respect to her. She swept along steadily through decorated corridors—paintings of past Lestranges gazing down on her and talking brightly amongst themselves. Their home was filled with the apex of wizarding society—they should be pleased.

Bellatrix came to the large double doors of the ballroom. They swung open to expose a splendid revel. Bellatrix would be honest, holding a ball was more Cissy's hobby than hers, but the status of organizing this particular celebration in her own home had a certain appeal. The room was decorated in luscious greens and evocative blacks. Candles warped and twisted the room's shadows elegantly, and live music drifted amongst the patrons, who danced, and conversed, and ate.

Bellatrix could see her husband chatting with his brother and Antonin Dolohov, a close friend of his. Across the room Bellatrix could spot Narcissa speaking with Andromeda and Andy's proper Pureblood husband.

At the head of the room, looking down upon the patrons like a benevolent god; was the Dark Lord. He was beautiful; salt and pepper hair, defined features, unnaturally pallid skin and slit blood red eyes that hinted of magic Darker than even Bellatrix could imagine. It is whispered that he used to be a great deal more attractive: less waxy with beautiful dark eyes and a smile that could charm all who encountered it. Bellatrix didn't believe it; he was absolutely perfect in her eyes, even better for his less-than-human coloring. He lounged on a golden throne, his expression neutral as his followers and sympathizers enjoyed themselves in his presence.

The occasion for Bellatrix throwing this ball was a joyous one; they had won the war. Mudbloods, blood traitors and the like had been put in their place once and for all, and the Old Families were _finally_ permitted to practice magic in all it's forms: Light, Grey, Dark, Blood, even Soul Magic was no longer punishable by a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.

Bellatrix approached the golden throne and bowed low before her Master.

"My Lord," she intoned reverently. His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile and she could practically feel her insides melt.

"Dearest Bellatrix," he hissed, sending shivers down Bellatrix's spine. "A fine celebration you have planned for such a monumental occasion."

"Thank you, My Lord," she intoned breathlessly. A long, bone white finger appeared under her chin and tilted her head until stormy grey connected with haunting scarlet.

"I am pleased," he whispered, words only for her. He gestured to the seat next to his throne—golden but far less intricate and grand. She took it gratefully, her Lord's proximity as he continued to observe his most loyal was the most glorious feeling in the world.

A childish giggle rang through the ballroom. A beautiful little boy, no older than seven with curly dark hair and gleaming grey eyes was racing around patrons with quick grace and bubbly enthusiasm. A little blonde boy that was practically Lucius' clone—but with Cissy's smile—was chasing him, obviously in some form of tag. Bellatrix had only seen her nephew as a baby and had no idea what he would look like as a seven-year-old, but the Malfoy's had a reputation for producing offspring that looked startlingly like their forebears. You've seen one Malfoy, you've seen them all.

The beautiful boy, who looked so much like her, was still evading his cousin efficiently. Normally, it would be unseemly for Black children to behave in such a manner, but this was a revel for the glorious victors of a drawn out civil war—a little decorum could be disregarded. Her son displayed wit and cunning as he continued to play with his cousin; a clever, carefree child in a world that could now be molded into what it always should have been by her powerful and brilliant Master.

The boy's giggles, the most pleasant sound Bellatrix had ever heard, echoed and dimmed as the telltale cold started to stain her fantasy. Outside her dream, in a world painfully more real, the dementors had honed in on her momentary happiness, and they were going to ruin it—as they always did.

An explosion rocked Lestrange Manor as the ballroom doors were blasted inward. With Albus Dumbledore at it's head, a collective of Order members streamed into the room, wands at the ready. Duels broke out left, right, and center. Almost as if he'd apparated, Rodolphus appeared at her side. Together, they plunged forward into the fight as a perfect team. He defended and she attacked. They made short work of seven Aurors. Mad-Eye Moody himself stepped forward, flanked by James Potter and her traitorous cousin Sirius.

They began a ferocious duel, magic sparking violently through the air. Bellatrix had just managed to send James sailing across the room, when her cousin got a curse past Rodolphus' defenses. It was a Black family curse, developed by Cassiopeia Black herself. Immediately, Rodolphus started to choke and splutter as his throat collapsed inward. There was no counter. Her best friend would die slowly and painfully.

Bellatrix shrieked and threw a Killing Curse. It caught Moody in the chest, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Sirius barked a laugh, completely ignoring his dead fellow Auror or the fact that his best friend had been flung haphazardly across the room a few seconds ago.

"You know, I never really liked him too much anyway. Doesn't matter now of course," he said, nudging Rodolphus' twitching body with his boot. Bellatrix raised her wand to wipe every last piece of her cousin off the face of the Earth when a sharp cry of desperation stole her attention.

"Mother!" screamed Romulus. He was struggling in the arms of a completely whole and sane Frank Longbottom. "Mummy! Please!" Tears were falling quickly down his pale cheeks as he continued to fight.

"Knock it off you little brat," yelled Frank as he harshly threw Bellatrix's son onto the hard marble floor. He raised his wand to Romulus' tear stained face.

"Diffindo!"

"No!" Bellatrix yelled, racing over to her son and completely disregarding her laughing cousin. She was too late, of course. As if in slow motion, Bellatrix watched in horror as bright light left Longbottom's wand to hit her child. Romulus' delicate throat split open in a spray of scarlet as Longbottom disappeared into the chaos all around them. Bellatrix reached her child's side as blood began to pool around his tiny body, sinking into his light blue robes and clumping his hair into horrifying tangles. She took her dying child into her arms, getting blood all over her once splendid robes that seemed so very meaningless now.

"It's going to be okay, baby. Mummy's going to make it better. Just hold on my precious baby," Bellatrix murmured frantically, rhythmically running her fingers through bloody curls. She should heal him, she wants to heal him, but the spells just wouldn't pass her lips. No matter how hard she tried, the healing spells simply wouldn't come. Large, watery grey eyes stared up at her desperately. Her son was issuing frantic choking sounds, impeded by his slashed throat. A bloody hand raised to rest against her cheek as a few more tears slipped away, and then his body went limp, the hand falling away and the eyes dulling into sightless glass orbs.

Behind her, the Dark Lord Voldemort fell to the wand of Albus Dumbledore. To her left, Andromeda and Narcissa were dueling to the death after Andromeda revealed herself a traitor and a spy. All the while Bellatrix sat amongst the madness, the cooling body of her only son clutched to her chest.

That night, when the cries of the damned echoed through the freezing halls of Azkaban prison, Bellatrix's was the loudest of all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Wow, this chapter did not want to be written. The only part that came easily was Bellatrix's dream sequence, probably due to the limited dialogue. There's been a lot of emotional conversation lately, so I'm excited for the next chapter, which should have less of that and more international shenanigans._

 _I've been getting some reviews asking about how Harry's new birthday affects the prophecy. I mentioned this in the first Author's Note I believe, but people skip Author's Notes all the time, including me, so they might have missed it._ _ **This is an AU where there is no prophecy.**_ _Voldemort attacked the Potter's for their continued defiance, and turned his wand on Harry to make a clean job of it. No need to let any orphan's grow up with a grudge against their parent's murderer to attempt revenge. I changed Harry's birthday to further draw the line in his mind between Harry and Romulus, to symbolize his rebirth in to the Potter family, and to give Bellatrix time to grow attached to her son but allow the Potter's to play him off as a newborn. Horcruxes, unlike birthday relevant prophecies, are still very much in play. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

 _P.S. The phrase at the bottom of Regulus' sketch of Sirius is a quote by King Solomon._


End file.
